


Even The Smallest Light

by astrangerenters



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Anastasia Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Amnesia, Angst, Childhood Friends, Family Loss, Flashbacks, Friendship, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Reunions, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 72,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6117979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerenters/pseuds/astrangerenters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a hefty reward offered for proof that any members of the family survived that night at Sakura House. Nino and Jun are determined to claim that reward, but first they have to find someone they can pass off, a doppelganger they can train in the royal ways. And then they meet Yoshimoto Koya.</p><p>[Anastasia AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An AU based on Anastasia/the Romanov family. There are no talking bats or zombie Rasputins in this, sorry. 
> 
> The title comes from the very inspirational [Rolling Days](http://yarukizero.livejournal.com/198561.html): Let's escape into the dark / And show how powerful even the smallest light can be.

**—then—**

The boots crunch in the snow. 

The boots crunch in the snow. 

The boots crunch in the snow.

It’s cold but there’s fire. It’s cold but there’s fire. It’s gone, it’s gone. All of it’s gone. All he knows is that it’s gone. He’s on fire. He feels like he’s on fire. He’s leaving fire in the snow. Follow the fire, they’ll follow it wherever they go. A bad plan. A terrible plan. It’s all such a terrible plan. This was it? This was _it_? This was the plan? He’s leaving fire in the snow.

“Don’t,” he hears, gruff and demanding. Insisting. Ordering. How dare he give the orders! “Don’t. Stay here. Stay with me, don’t go.”

The boots will leave tracks. They’ll come anyway. They’ll come anyway. The man had no boots for him. Boots for himself, but no boots for him. This was the plan? This couldn’t have been the plan. 

“Other side. My other side. I’m sorry.”

He’s shifted. He’s jostled. He can’t walk on his own, and the man is tiring from the hauling of him. He’s all fire and dead weight. He’s leaving fire in the snow. The boots start to crunch again, but where there’s fire in him, it’s now pressed against the man’s body. With each step, his fire bumps against the man with the boots only for himself.

The fire grows and before he can scream, the man’s hand is covering his mouth. Again. Again. He has to swallow the screams down. He wants them out, he needs them out, he’s full to bursting with the need to let the screams out, but this man, again and again, this man makes him swallow the screams. 

“I’m sorry!” the man says. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. We’re almost…almost…”

The boots crunch in the snow. The boots crunch in the snow. He cries, from the fire, from before the fire, from things he can’t unsee, and the droplets freeze in the corners of his eyes. He can hardly keep them open. The boots crunch in the snow.

“There will be help. There will be help,” the man promises him. He says more words, many more words that ought to mean something, many more words that ought to bring hope, but the fire is spreading. The fire is spilling from him, and he fears that he’ll be empty before they reach where the help is. 

“Stay with me. Stay with me, don’t go. You can’t go.”

Stop ordering me around, he wants to scream, but the words are trapped. So he knows his only way to protest is to disobey. The man with the boots for himself and no boots for him, it’s this man’s wish that he stays. He spills fire, the boots leave prints. They’ll find them. They’ll find them anyway, what does it matter? It’s the man’s wish that he stays, so he does what makes sense. The opposite makes sense. How dare this man give the orders! He gives in to the pain, he gives in to the things he can’t unsee. He gives in to the fire and the swallowed screams and he doesn’t stay.

He goes.

**—now—**

Gyoranzaka Home for Boys  
Takanawa, Workers’ Republic of Minato

It always took him hours to attend to the snows. They were half a mile from the main road, through a forest that had been thinned like the threads on an old sweater. It was Kitagawa’s army that camped a mile away from Takanawa town proper, out by the boys’ home, back then. They’d approached the capital, Keio, from the north, but they waited out a winter here. An army of that size, they took and took. Firewood, materials for troop barracks, they took from the forest to build and wait it out.

“It never used to be that bad,” Headmaster Joshima always said when the first snows spread from the mountains behind them to blanket the foothills near Takanawa, the boys’ home a mile away. “But without the forest, it’s harder.”

Without the forest, the wind blew harder. It didn’t have so many trees to contend with, so many trees to collide with. The wicked, full-powered wind made the drifts near the Gyoranzaka Home for Boys rise to a foot tall, two feet tall. They didn’t have the petrol budget for a mechanical plow. It was on him to clear it all away. Him and his shovel. The boys helped, but they never lasted long. They diligently cleared their playground with shovels and brooms, skidding their marbles around on the patches of ice that dotted the courtyard as soon as the ground was visible again. The path from the building to the road, that was on him. The boys didn’t help with work that didn’t directly affect them, and he couldn’t begrudge them that. Marbles were serious business at Gyoranzaka, pockets stuffed to the brim with them when the meal bell clanged and they had to go back inside.

The shovel scraped the path, the hard-packed dirt turning the pure white into a dulled, speckled gray, and he lifted. If he got lost enough in the shoveling, he could forget the pain in his shoulder that flared with every dump of snow to his left, off the path and out of the way. If he got lost in the shoveling, his head could clear. It was a job he liked, even as it pained him. Even as it exhausted him. Even when the wind whipped through the half-gone forest, pushing a dusting of snow back onto the path that he’d already cleared behind him. He liked the jobs where he could forget and just do. The path to the road was clear or it was not clear, and there was nothing complicated about it.

It was nearly sunset when it was clear, which meant that the man in the truck from town could come in the morning. The truck from town brought them food, whatever donations had been gathered and whatever else had been ordered from the home’s government-assisted budget. It was lean times, Headmaster Joshima always said, but when hadn’t it been lean times? The lean times were just getting leaner. The staff was on one third portions so that the boys might at least get by on half. There was no meat unless Koya was sent to put out a trap for rabbits, but they’d gone almost a month ago, the rabbits. Too cold.

He trudged back through the snow, dragging his shovel behind him and feeling the throb in his shoulder. It made his fingers twinge, shake. Sometimes he lost feeling in them and not because of the cold. No, he had good gloves, a pair of Headmaster Joshima’s that he’d given to Koya especially for winter. “You need these more than me.”

His shed was behind the building, nothing more than a half-assed wooden lean-to with a door that always stuck, especially in the winter cold. But some of the boys had built it ages ago, boys who had hoped to be apprenticed to a carpenter in town. Headmaster Joshima couldn’t bear to see it torn down and rebuilt. The boys who had hoped to be apprenticed to a carpenter in town had been drafted, and not a one had returned to the Gyoranzaka Home for Boys. Orphans, they made for easy choices in a draft. And there had been so many, many wars.

Koya yanked the door open, wincing at the continued ache in his shoulder, throughout his entire body, and he put his shovel back. He closed it up, the chain and padlock keeping it locked up tight as he pocketed the heavy iron key once more. He sighed, hurrying to the staff entrance and leaving his boots in the entryway, switching to the thick-soled winter slippers worn indoors by everyone from the headmaster to the youngest boy at this time of year. The staff dining room was empty. To save on heating costs, everyone ate in the main hall with the boys now. But there was a note on the table.

_Yoshimoto-san, please come to my office when you are finished with the snow._

He took off his heavy gloves, the gift from Headmaster Joshima, as well as the thinner pair of gloves he wore under them to provide extra protection from blisters. His pale fingers brushed against the note, against the smear of ink that left a smudge on “snow.” He’d be eating late tonight, if he’d screwed up again. 

He went to his room first, depositing his overcoat, his ugly red scarf (a donation from some knitting widow in town that the boys had all ridiculed and rejected and given to him instead), his wool hat. He had no mirror in his room, settling for running a hand through his hair and hoping that the smell of his sweat-soaked body wouldn’t offend the headmaster too much.

He knocked on the door, hearing Headmaster Joshima’s kind and soft-spoken voice bid him to enter. He bowed his head the moment he was in the door. “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long, Headmaster. There was a lot of snow today.”

“No, no, Yoshimoto-san, it’s okay.” The Headmaster’s office was always cold. The dormitories and classrooms were somewhat insulated, heated with wood-burning stoves, but staff offices were not. Joshima was sitting as usual behind his oak desk, pulling his spectacles from his face and laying them down. He was bundled up from head to toe, his hands poking from the sleeves of his overcoat like a shy turtle peeking its head from its shell.

Koya took a seat and saw how tired the Headmaster looked. Koya knew the man was maybe only ten years older than him, but his was a heavy burden. Gyoranzaka was currently home to 247 boys, though they really only had the space and budget for 125. And still he took them in, boys orphaned from the wars or boys whose parents had had one child too many, too many mouths to feed. In exchange for government support, whichever government it was that currently controlled Minato, places like Gyoranzaka were the first called upon to fill ranks. Foot soldiers. Cannon fodder. 

It had been peaceful, lately, since General Higashiyama had come to power. His network of secret police, informants, they were rotten to the core, but somehow things got done. Funding came to the boys’ home on schedule, even though the amounts dwindled from month to month. Lean times. Joshima had been hopeful that some of this year’s “graduates” would be able to join a trade in Takanawa or maybe in the capital. The boys were forced to leave at 18, to make their own way. Most years, they were drafted into the ranks of whichever general’s army held Keio. Maybe those turning 18 this year would get a taste of what a normal life could be. Not that Yoshimoto Koya knew what that was like, aside from the books he was allowed to read from Gyoranzaka’s small, moldy library collection.

Headmaster Joshima was looking at him with such sadness. There was pity in his face often, and Koya really didn’t like it. He never had and was mostly glad that his work kept him outside, away from those looks. “Yoshimoto-san, I have some bad news today.”

“Oh?” He’d done it again, he thought bitterly. How far would they move his room? In his first months, they’d housed him near the staff dorms. Hell, they’d even given him a bunkmate to start. But his nightmares had put an end to that. An end to the bunkmate and an end to the staff dorms. After almost thirteen years here, thirteen long years of shoveling snow and pulling weeds, they still kept him in an old closet under the main stairwell at night. Could they hear his screams, his nightmares, even from there?

“We’ve just received this month’s government allotment,” Joshima said. “With winter and the recent intake from town…”

Koya gripped the arms of his chair, quaking in rage. They shouldn’t have taken those boys. Those last four sickly boys from the closing orphanage in town. Their medicine cost too much. It was unfair to spend more on them when so many other boys needed food, a warm bed.

“With all of that, the rest of the staff and I have come to the conclusion that we no longer need a dedicated groundskeeper.”

Koya’s mouth went dry. “Sir,” he muttered quietly. “Sir, it’s…it’s January, sir…”

Joshima reached a hand out across the desk, but Koya wouldn’t take it. “I cannot give up anything more. I cannot. The older boys can attend to the snow. And to the repairs.”

“Sir, you can’t turn me away,” Koya whispered. Thirteen years he’d been loyal. He’d learned it all as best he could, the fixing of things, from a handyman in town. Without Gyoranzaka, he had nothing. He had nobody. Or if he did, he couldn’t remember. And they were turning him out so suddenly? What costs did he incur that were suddenly too much of a burden now? He worked for his place under the stairwell, which he kept clean and neat. He worked for his meals, even as he gladly ate less than he should so that the boys might grow stronger. He worked for the pain cream that came in from town with the truck, that he used as sparingly as he could so he could make it last longer even when he ached. 

Was it the pain cream? Was it too costly? Or was it the nightmares? Did he scare the boys?

“I’m sorry, Yoshimoto-san. I’ve kept you as long as I could. You know I have done everything in my power…”

Every year he’d been on the chopping block, but Joshima had said no. Yoshimoto Koya served this country, he always argued. Are we to turn him away? Is this how we thank those who sacrifice themselves to protect us? It seemed that Joshima’s ability to protect him had run its course.

“You can stay through the end of the week. With your skills, you might find work in town. You have been a real help here for so many years.”

“Then why? I’ll eat less. I’ll give up on my pain cream…”

Joshima shut his eyes. “The space under the stairwell. We might fit two, three boys there. Young ones. The overcrowding in the dorms is becoming a burden.”

“I would share. You know I would willingly share.”

“I know you would, but they would not be comfortable with you,” Joshima admitted quietly. “I am sorry, Yoshimoto-san, I must be firm in my decision. In lieu of full severance pay, I can negotiate with a friend of mine who works for the railway. If you’d rather not try your luck in Takanawa, he can get you to Keio. There are always opportunities in the capital.”

There were always lines for rice in the capital, Koya had been told. Where would he go, where would he stay? The nightmares that plagued him for as long as he could remember, that clung to his brain and wouldn’t let go, parasitic agonies that woke him in a cold sweat at least once a week, if not more. The snow, the snow, the pain of it. The images that never quite made sense. They woke him, and he screamed. He screamed until his throat was raw, until someone came and pounded on the stairs above him to wake him, to shut him up. With his nightmares, no decent boarding house would keep him very long.

The scarring near his left shoulder, front and back, it would pain him for the rest of his days. One of his first memories, one of the things that always stuck with him, was the doctor telling him so. It had been a bullet wound, in through the front and clean out through the back. It had torn his flesh up and since he hadn’t gotten to a hospital quickly enough, it had festered. The infection, the fever…the first week in that hospital was something Koya couldn’t remember well. But at least he remembered it had happened.

Anything before that, though, was a problem. He’d been brought to the soldiers’ hospital, Kamezuka Hospital, outside Gunma Town, with his wound. He’d also lost two toes on his right foot to frostbite. Even this many years later Koya walked with a sort of limping gait, often resorting to stuffing his boot with a mound of wool to take their place, to help him walk when he tired of the boys’ teasing imitations. Yoshimoto Koya was the name on his intake forms, so he supposed that was his name, though he couldn’t answer the questions of where he was from, his military rank, how he’d been wounded, why he hadn’t been given basic treatment at the front lines, and whose army he’d served in. The hospital had patched up his wounds, but they’d never managed to fix his head.

The wound, even with the infection, hadn’t been enough to really induce amnesia. The doctors had concluded that he’d seen something in the trenches, something horrible enough for his mind to lock it away, to make him forget. The nightmares that poked through, waking him in the middle of the night unable to breathe, it was his memories trying to come back, but somehow he couldn’t unlock the puzzle. All these years later, Koya wondered what horrors he’d seen that had left him this way. But then, after a nightmare, Koya didn’t really want to know what had made him this way. Would he ever be whole? He mostly doubted it.

He’d come to depend on Headmaster Joshima’s kindness. When Kamezuka Hospital couldn’t justify treating him any longer (or probably because they couldn’t actually fix what was broken with him), he’d found his way to the Gyoranzaka Home for Boys. He’d survived by doing odd jobs and accepting the indignity that was being a grown man and sleeping on a bedroll under a stairwell. His age upon reaching Kamezuka Hospital had been registered as 18 (something he couldn’t prove or disprove), and here he was now, nearly 34 years old with no family, no friends. Nobody had ever come to the hospital or the boys’ home looking for Yoshimoto Koya, to fill in the blanks, to tell him who he was.

“Maybe you were an aristocrat,” one of the staff members, Tsumabuki-san, always teased him. “Since you can read and play as good as you do.”

Apparently Yoshimoto Koya, though he’d arrived in the hospital in the garb of a common soldier, had been an educated young man. Koya devoured any book, anything with words that was placed in front of him. One time he’d gotten halfway through a book written in a foreign language before realizing it wasn’t his seemingly native tongue. He’d been taught that language, but when? By whom? He’d discovered a talent for music, occasionally playing the out of tune old piano during some of the boys’ singing performances to sucker donors into sending the home more money. He’d found that out when he was halfway through a song, his fingers flying over the keys, having barely registered sitting down on the piano bench and getting started.

“The last thing anyone in this country should want to be,” another staff member, Ariyoshi-san, had teased, “is an aristocrat.”

An aristocrat. A common soldier. A groundskeeper with a limp and perpetual bags under his eyes. Yoshimoto Koya knew only his life at Gyoranzaka Home for Boys. A new start, it ought to have frightened him. Work in Takanawa, that ought to be his aim. But he had been to town, and he knew their stares. He knew their whispers. It was the dead of winter, and he knew that there’d be no real work in town until rice planting come spring. With his bad shoulder, he’d be a risky hire anyhow.

He cleared his throat, knowing when he wasn’t wanted or needed. “Headmaster, your offer regarding Keio is very generous. I would be pleased to accept.”

**—**

Takamatsu Residence Block 9  
Keio, Workers’ Republic of Minato

There were whispers that the new blocks going up, the potential blocks 17-20 in Takamatsu, were going to have lifts. They could build them taller, that was the main reasoning behind it. More floors, more apartments. Space in Keio had been hard to come by even in the old days, but since the genesis of the republic, more and more people came to the capital in search of something better. He was fairly certain nobody ever found that something better. But once they got here, there was no going back. Men, women, children, crowded into each new set of blocks that went up.

The row houses and simple tenements Jun remembered from childhood had been bulldozed in favor of the blocks. Neighborhoods that used to house a thousand now bore the burden of ten thousand. Hastily done concrete slabs, five or six uniform floors. Shoddy workmanship left the buildings easily shaken and cracked from small earthquakes. The builders never put in a lot of effort since they were often contracted by the government, which changed hands so often that work orders might get lost in the shuffle. Getting things done quickly, when there was still someone to cut the check, that was the way of things now. When the “big one” struck someday, the loss of life would be catastrophic.

The good thing about the lifts, Jun figured, was that the value of his own apartment would remain unchanged. Apartments in the blocks with the lifts would go for a premium, and rents in their block would probably remain manageable. Nino complained day in, day out about having to climb the five flights of steps to the apartment they shared, but the yen saved from being at the top floor of a block without lifts was something he valued even more than Jun did.

Two children from the third floor came flying down the steps, a brother and sister in coats missing half their buttons. “Fish Man!” they howled when they went by. “Ew, gross, it’s Fish Man!”

Jun smirked, continuing his slow trudge upward. “You’re more than just a Fish Man,” Nino often argued, when he sat hunched over the low table, squinting in candlelight. “You’re Fish and Oil Man.”

Whatever his moniker, Jun had employment and that was more than many people had. He’d driven the sputtering delivery truck for Ohno Fishmongers for more than a decade now, and if that meant he came home smelling like exhaust and halibut, then so be it. Although he didn’t particularly like the smell either.

He fumbled in his pocket for the key, twisting it in the lock and stepping into their apartment. They were on the top floor of Block 9, housed between an elderly couple whose apartment always stunk of boiled cabbage and a widow with four screaming mouths to feed. It wasn’t ideal, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. 

He hoped.

He unlaced his boots, sighing. It had been a long day. He started deliveries just before sunrise and only finished in the middle of the afternoon, having hauled orders off the truck and into shops and restaurants all over the capital. His roommate, however, did not have a fixed schedule. He went out whenever he felt like making money, and if his other “services” were needed, he usually opted to meet clients in the crowded marketplace down the road, moving among the other shoppers so government operatives would be unlikely to overhear his conversation.

“I’m home,” he announced, leaving the boots in the corner and tugging off his wool coat. In summer he was able to wear lighter cotton clothing to work, but in the dead of winter, wool was the only option and the smell of his work clung to it and wouldn’t let go. The small closet in the genkan was reserved for Jun’s coat and gloves and hat, a stopgap measure to keep the whole apartment from stinking of fish. And oil.

“Welcome home,” came the thin, sing-song voice of his roommate. Ninomiya Kazunari was Jun’s age, the pair of them having both arrived at thirty-two years that summer. But where Jun was broad and strong, having spent the last ten years hauling heavy crates of fish from one end of Keio to another, his roommate was small and jittery, a sly fellow with sharp, intelligent eyes who’d been in survival mode for many more years than Jun.

Jun all but collapsed onto the floor, putting his glasses on the table top and tugging on the kotatsu’s blanket to cover half of himself. Nino, firmly ensconced beneath the blanket on the opposite side, looked cozy and content. “I’ve got an idea.”

“I wanna sleep,” Jun grumbled in reply. Lately when Nino had ideas, it meant the two of them bundling up and walking many futile miles, until Nino complained about his boots pinching his toes.

“Sleep when you’re dead,” Nino chided him, pushing aside the newspapers that he had cluttering up the table. “Strategy change.”

Jun shut his eyes. “Again?”

“We’ve been going about this the wrong way entirely,” Nino said, tapping the table with a few of his stubby little fingers. “It’s a scientific fact that women are the smarter sex, right?”

“Not a scientist,” Jun grumbled. “Dunno. Probably.” They certainly took a lot of stupid risks together, he and Nino.

“So then why are we still pursuing the Princess tack?”

“Because you wanna sleep with all the candidates,” Jun said bluntly, hearing Nino’s snort of laughter.

“Ah, that’s right,” Nino responded. “But even I have to admit that the temporary pleasures of the audition process have not brought about long-term results. I think we have to switch to men.”

Jun sighed.

“This does add some complications,” Nino admitted. “Visas for a husband and a wife are less likely to raise eyebrows. Three men traveling together might be trickier. But think of the possibilities it opens. We don’t have as many limits. A Princess Eriko with manners and a specific look, that’s a tricky business. Change to men and we’ve got two age groups to look for. Doubling our chances of success.”

At the mention of Princess Eriko, Jun winced. But he let Nino keep blathering on. Sometimes he was able to fall asleep while Nino was talking, and Nino was eventually able to take the hint that he was on his own that day. It was the fifteenth anniversary this year, and in their New Year’s Day address a few weeks earlier, the sentimental King and Queen of Chiba had upped the reward money if someone arrived with legitimate proof before the year was up. Were they just going to drop the matter entirely after the New Year? Nobody knew, but Nino had convinced himself that this year was their year. 

This was the year he and Jun were going to pull off the scam of the century.

Fifteen years ago, when Jun was seventeen, the royal family - King Hiroki, Queen Kanako, and their three children - had been murdered. Jun knew the date better than most. Even before most of the Loyalists had been executed, the rumors had been swirling. Rumors that the children might have survived. It was the Crown Princess most had been rooting for, simply because she was the safest bet. The Sakurai family had had an heir and a spare, so the girl was no threat. And how could soldiers gun down a sweet, innocent teenage girl in cold blood? 

The same way they’d gunned down her parents, Jun knew. The same way they’d gunned down her older brother and younger brother, their bodies dumped like trash in an open, unmarked grave. They were dead, of that Jun was certain, but Nino wasn’t terribly concerned with facts, even the truth Jun had seen with his own eyes. The rumors had grown so pervasive that the royal family of the neighboring Kingdom of Chiba had spent the last several years offering a monetary reward for proof that any members of the Sakurai family had survived. The Queen of Chiba was Queen Kanako’s sister, so whichever regime ruled Minato indulged the royal family’s hopeful plea to avoid drawing Chiba out of their neutral status. And by now, fifteen years gone, nobody in Minato really cared if they’d survived or not.

For the last several months, Jun had helped Nino to hunt down their own Princess Eriko. She’d have been twenty-eight this year, and Keio was not the easiest place to search. Many women of twenty-eight were married, had borne children. There was no talking those women into sneaking out of the country, slipping into Chiba and proclaiming themselves the long lost Princess of Minato. 

That mostly left poor women, down on their luck women. It irritated Jun, accompanying Nino to factories and eyeballing the women who came out after a long, back-breaking shift. Many of them probably longed to escape, but none of them fit the “Princess” profile. Rough, callused hands. Malnourished bodies, dead eyes from hours on the assembly line. Nino had sampled his share of Keio’s women in his search for a willing participant in the scheme, but no amount of coaching was going to get any of these women to a Princess Eriko status any time soon. 

It was almost February, so they technically had through the end of the year to train someone and make their way to Chiba, but Nino was stir-crazy. Since General Higashiyama had taken power, petty crime was being punished with a harshness that would have made King Hiroki blush. Nino had run a pickpocketing racket out of Tamachi Station for years, but when one of his boys had been executed on the spot, a man’s wallet still in hand, he’d closed up shop abruptly before any more of his kids met a similar fate.

That meant he had fallen back on his other job, forging work permits and travel visas. It meant sitting alone in the apartment for hours, imitating signatures and seals. Nino was a criminal, had been since before he and Jun had met, and yet Jun didn’t care. One of Nino’s forgeries meant new possibilities. A worker laid off from one factory could obtain employment in another without having to be on a government wait list for months, could feed his family. Whoever ruled Minato, those were the real criminals, Jun knew.

One of the children in the apartment next door started sobbing, and Jun knew he wasn’t going to enjoy the simple pleasures of an afternoon nap. He sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair. Nino grinned at the messy mop of black on top of Jun’s head. Nino preferred to keep his closely cropped, but Jun had been a soldier and would never keep his hair so short again.

He put his glasses back on, yawning. “Okay, sensei,” Jun said, seeing a completed stack of work permits under Nino’s inkwell. “Where do you propose we start looking for Prince Ryota?”

“Aim higher, Jun-kun,” Nino said. “All the boys Ryota’s age are probably trapped in the army. We need to go for the big prize.”

Jun felt his stomach twist in knots. Eriko…somehow it had always been more palatable when it was Eriko.

Nino leaned forward, smiling gleefully like a cat presenting a dead mouse to his master. “We’re going to train ourselves a Crown Prince Sho.”

**—then—**

Noribetsu Ryokan  
Gunma Town, Kingdom of Minato

He paces the floor again and again. He can’t sit still, not as the minutes tick by and nobody comes. She had pressed the pouch of coins into his hand and kissed him on both cheeks. She’d held his face in her hands, her eyes firm and determined. 

“You take this, Jun. You take this and it should be enough to get you to the border.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” he’d whined. 

“I have to take a different way. We can’t all go together,” she had said. “We will meet again, I promise.”

She’s trusting him with this, but he doesn’t want to go. He has enough money to get them to a train, sure, but won’t they be suspicious? She hasn’t thought this through, but it’s all come about so suddenly, he supposes she didn’t have time to think logically about it.

But she also said that a soldier would be bringing him before midnight, and it’s long past. The ryokan is quiet, and Gunma Town has gone to bed. It’s probably suspicious to keep the lantern lit, but she told him to do it. “Leave a light so the lieutenant will know where to bring him.”

It’s such a bad plan.

Jun stops pacing about twenty minutes later when he hears the clomping of horses on cobblestones. Even from his room in the rear of the ryokan, a large courtyard separating him from the main road, he can already hear the shouting. His heart starts to pound in his chest. Horses, at this hour? It can only be the guards from Sakura House. Something’s gone wrong. They’ve come to Gunma Town, so something has gone wrong.

They sound close, and he hears boots pounding in the corridor a few minutes later. He ought to go to sleep, pretend to just be another person sleeping, but they’ll know him on sight. The guards will see him here and know that he’s part of the deception. She told him to stay, to wait, but it’s clear that something has gone wrong. In seconds he’s dressed in the dark cloak she found for him, tying his boots. He puts his heavy pack onto his shoulders. It’s heavy only because he’s carrying clothing and a few days’ rations for himself and for the Crown Prince. He considers dumping the extra but decides not to.

He extinguishes the lantern, his whole body trembling as he hears people in the ryokan start to scream. He sneaks out into the hall, seeing a handful of guards heading down a separate corridor. Jun hurries, exiting through the stable where he’d tied up Yama. The horse is the only one in here for the night, and she’s extremely agitated when Jun enters, tries to pull her from her stall. He’s never been good with animals.

“Ssh, be quiet, you stupid horse,” Jun hisses, the pack weighing him down. There’s no time to saddle her up, but if they find Yama in the stable they’ll think that Sho is here in the ryokan. They were supposed to ride her together, on their great escape to whatever town with a train station would get them to the border. “Yama, come on!”

He opens the stable door and before he can give the horse a smack on the rump, she’s racing out of the stable and out into the night. 

“Damn it! Yama!”

When Jun gets out into the street, Sho’s beloved horse is long gone and the guards from Sakura House, General Kitagawa’s appointed jailers, are putting shops and houses in the Gunma Town market square to the torch. Jun’s eyes widen. They’re not just looking for Sho. They’re trying to smoke him out of hiding, and if they have to burn down civilian residences to do it, they will.

“No,” Jun murmurs, hearing screams as soldiers start breaking into houses, setting more on fire. “No, they can’t do this.”

“Sakurai Sho!” says one of the guards, rifle in hand and out before him in an aggressive stance. “Sakurai Sho, you will show yourself! If any of you are harboring Sakurai Sho, you will be arrested!”

If the guards are in Gunma Town, then who is watching the family at Sakura House? Jun nearly drops the pack when he realizes. There’s no need to watch the family if the family’s already been killed.

It was mere hours ago that she pressed the pouch of coins in his hand and told him to wait. That the soldier who would be coming was a Loyalist and would bring Sho to the ryokan. He listened because he’d do anything for her. Anything she ever asked, even if it was stupid like this plan. 

But if the family’s already been killed, if all of this has been for nothing…

“Mother,” he whispers, tears pricking his eyes.

It takes everything he has not to scream as he races through the streets of Gunma Town, buildings already collapsing in heaps of burning timber. He has to get back. He has to get back there. He hears gunshots behind him, but he doesn’t slow down, even with the pack on his back. 

It’s twenty minutes on horseback from Sakura House to Gunma Town, but that sort of speed is not possible now. His boots carry him through the snow as he stays off the main road. Nobody’s following him yet. But Gunma Town is burning, he’s lost Yama, and she promised that they would meet again.

She promised!

**—now—**

Mita Palace  
Keio, Workers’ Republic of Minato

He’d left his third boarding house that week, and this time it wasn’t because of the nightmares. He’d been in a big room, a long row of bunked beds, and someone had waited until he was asleep to try and see if he had any money to steal. The joke was on that guy, since Koya had taken the Keio train ride instead of a payout from Headmaster Joshima. He had little more than the clothes on his back and a handful of coins.

Coins that, given the inflation rate in Keio and across most of the country, meant he had enough for two more hot meals, maybe three and that was it. Koya hadn’t really had to think much about money in the last several years. He’d never been paid in money, but in food and shelter and pain cream. Now those coins were the difference between starvation and one more day’s survival in a capital city that didn’t want him.

Headmaster Joshima, entrenched as he was in a backwater like Takanawa, didn’t really know how things worked in Keio. Almost all factory jobs required a work permit. In a country ostensibly called a “Workers’ Republic,” the workers had very little under their control. Industry, manufacturing, these jobs went to people who put in their applications months in advance, or to those who knew a guy that knew a guy who could move him up a list. 

Outside of the big factories, the large companies that kept the country humming no matter who was in charge, there were small businesses, but Koya hadn’t found anything that could match his qualifications so far. The clearing of snow was a civil servant position, another government list he couldn’t get on since he didn’t really have an identity card. He had only the intake form from the hospital that identified him as Yoshimoto Koya, and the tattered paper had been folded again and again over the years. He had a recommendation letter from Headmaster Joshima, too, but his name and position meant nothing in the capital. All groundskeeper work at big companies and buildings of the capital would run a check on him, and he couldn’t verify a single thing.

Maybe he should have stayed in Takanawa, endured their judgment and pity. He’d spent the last week on his feet seeking employment in the bitter cold, the boot on his right foot jammed tight with newsprint and cotton to slightly adjust his gait, but still, a job recruiter could see a man who was less than perfect the moment he walked in the door. The limp he tried so hard to hide, the stiff way he kept his left arm against his side when he walked to avoid moving his shoulder more than necessary. Koya knew he’d work hard in any job, but nobody was willing to give him a chance. And it wasn’t like anyone was looking to hire someone who could both shovel the sidewalk and play a piano sonata by ear.

Instead of looking for another boarding house and parting with his remaining coins, he’d returned to a spot that he’d passed a day earlier. Mita Palace had housed Minato’s royal family in the years before the Glorious Revolt, and standing there at the gate, Koya had felt the strangest sensation pass through him. It had been a grand old place once, though now it had been stripped down of anything valuable. Even the window glass and shutters had been torn away. He didn’t know which army he’d served in before getting shot. Maybe his odd feelings were letting him know that he’d fought for the Loyalist cause. There’d still been a cause those first few years before most of the Loyalists had been executed.

An old woman carrying her daily allotment from one of the food lines had stood beside him, pointing a gnarled finger at the building. They gutted the place, she’d explained like some tour guide, just after the revolt. With the family dead, General Kitagawa had ordered the furniture destroyed until one of his advisors told him to make a profit from it. Paintings and sculptures had been sold to museums in other countries. The Queen’s jewels financed the General’s eventual military campaigns against the other hopeful upstarts that plunged Minato into civil war for years.

The place was finally due to be torn down within the month, the old woman had explained. It had sat here for fifteen years, emptied and stripped of everything that had made it wondrous. It now housed several dozen homeless, who lit fires in the old fireplaces, who pissed and shat in what had once been royal bedchambers. “It’ll be a new set of residence blocks,” the woman said. “Mita’s too far from the center of town to be worth turning into government offices.”

Koya entered through the open gate in the back by the servants’ entrance. He wasn’t quite sure why he knew that was what it was, but maybe the old woman had mentioned it the other day. He had trouble focusing sometimes, and staring at Mita Palace had given him a headache. Probably because one family had kept all this grandeur to themselves. No wonder they’d been overthrown.

There weren’t as many people inside as Koya had anticipated, walking through the barren kitchens and into what might have been a grand dining room. Maybe with the impending destruction of the building, most people had sought shelter elsewhere. The carpets had been ripped up haphazardly, patches of it still tacked to the floor, while a chandelier sat by its lonesome in a corner, shards of glass ringing it. Each room he passed through stunk more than the one that had come before it, the ground littered with rat droppings, spoiled food, flyers for political rallies a decade old. 

He avoided the stairwells leading up to the second floor, presuming that the bedchambers and other private rooms had already been claimed by the homeless and other squatters who had taken over the palace. His job hunt would continue, but at least for now he could stretch his coins for a few more days. He found himself in a large reception hall, or maybe it had been a ballroom. It wasn’t like Koya had ever attended something fancy like that. The doors had been torn off the hinges, leaving the room open and undefended.

Some of the windows remained, though one corner of the room was home to a mound of snow, torn curtains fluttering in the bitter winter wind coming through the shattered glass. His boots thumped across the tiled floor, crunching on garbage. He couldn’t help looking up, seeing that the ceilings were elaborately painted. Even in the dim remaining sunlight of the January afternoon, Koya could see the pathetic reminders of a bygone era. A watery landscape, fat green lotus leaves spread across the surface. It might have been beautiful, once.

There was a raised platform at the opposite end of the room. The king’s throne had been here, his brain informed him, though Koya again was unsure why he knew this. This knowledge was something like his piano, maybe. Something he’d learned in the time he couldn’t remember. There were dark scrapes on the floor here, so perhaps the throne had been tugged away, moved and sold or destroyed.

Koya crouched down, his gloved fingers moving along the dark scratches gouged into the floor. Suddenly his head throbbed and he felt dizzy, almost toppling back onto his ass. He’d been walking all day, and he needed to rest. This room was too empty, and even in his heavy coat he’d probably freeze if he slept in here at night, exposed to the elements. He got to his feet and passed through a creaking door at the rear of the reception hall.

The parlor beyond had clearly housed several people recently, since the smell of sweat and piss still lingered prominently. Koya shuddered a bit, not liking his options. He’d lived in a small space for many years, but he’d kept things clean. But the parlor had a door that closed and no windows. He wouldn’t freeze to death in here. He dropped his small satchel in a corner, the one that fortunately had not been used as a latrine. The floor was hard, but someone had left behind a makeshift pallet of cardboard that would cushion him a little.

He sat down heavily, rifling through his satchel to find the small onigiri wrapped in newspaper that had been the breakfast provided that morning at the boarding house. He’d gone the whole day, saving it, and the bottle he carried around was still half full with water from the boarding house tap. Even in his bag it was half frozen, and he tapped it against the floor again and again to try and encourage the ice to melt. Koya was used to meager meals, but this one seemed even sadder than most. He needed to find employment and soon. 

Even as he ate, his headache persisted. He shut his eyes, leaning his forehead against his knee. It had been building and building, ever since he’d entered the palace. Koya didn’t believe in things like curses, though if any place in Minato was cursed, Mita Palace probably was. How many walls had he passed by that day that had been graffitied with words like “Death to the monarchy” or “Let the people rise up”? Maybe those angry feelings had seeped into the walls, the rage permeating the air the same as human waste.

“It hurts,” he mumbled, his voice sounding pathetically small in the abandoned room.

He wasn’t sure when or how he managed to fall asleep, but this time when the nightmare came, nobody was there to interrupt or wake him. He woke, body trembling and cold, his throat aching from the screams he must have let out. He didn’t remember the nightmares well, just images usually. Flashes. This one had been so vivid though. In this one, he’d been in the reception hall, the ballroom, whatever it was. He’d been playing a piano in the center of the hall, the room crowded from one end to the other with people in fancy dress. When he’d finished, the floor had opened up, swallowing him and the piano both as the crowd erupted into vigorous applause.


	2. Chapter 2

Mita Palace  
Keio, Workers’ Republic of Minato

Nino’s voice was muffled, since he’d covered his nose and mouth with his scarf in an attempt to avoid the stench inside the palace. “Getting sentimental yet?”

“No,” Jun replied, holding the lantern out before them. They’d gone to a few parks on the north side of the city, but the homeless men and women who lived there were very protective of their space, of each other. Nobody had wanted to speak with them at all. The palace had been Jun’s idea, if only because they could walk around inside and not freeze, could get out of the wind. Could avoid the secret police who walked the streets of Keio at night, looking for people to arrest for no good reason.

He had to be up in maybe five or six hours, back in the truck with the morning deliveries, but Nino was determined to find someone tonight. They’d been at it for nearly a week now, looking for men between the ages of about thirty and thirty-five that might be able to pass for Crown Prince Sho, the deceased heir of the Sakurai family. Nino figured they had an advantage over most people who were scheming to trick Chiba’s royal family - they actually knew what Sakurai Sho had looked like and would be able to identify the best doppelganger.

“They” actually meant Jun, and with each person they assessed and quickly rejected, Jun’s heart ached more and more. None of them were even close. Their eyes weren’t large enough, their faces weren’t round enough. The teeth were wrong. He was taller. He was shorter. Each rejection just served to remind Jun of what the real deal had looked like, had been like. And it hurt so badly that he was just about ready to give up and tell Nino that they were better off looking for an Eriko or a Ryota. Little Prince Ryota had been five years old when he’d died, so they could pick anyone and nobody would really know the difference.

Sho…Sho had been eighteen. With that arrogant princely smile, with his whole life ahead of him.

“Helloooooooo!” Nino shouted into the cavernous empty space that Jun had known as the palace ballroom.

Jun elbowed him, holding the lantern aloft. “Shut up. There could be criminals in here.”

“We’re the ones they ought to be afraid of,” Nino teased, holding up his pistol. Someone in a dangerous line of work like Nino was always carrying a gun, and Jun didn’t like it. He’d seen enough guns in his life.

They’d gone upstairs first, though pickings had been slim. They’d found a group of people in the old library, roasting a rat over a fire like it was gourmet cuisine. It had nearly turned Jun’s stomach. There’d been a group of four men in what had been the nursery, all of them too old to pass for Sho. Jun thought there’d have been more squatters, given how massive the palace was, but the building had long since served its purpose. There were few corners that hadn’t been used and abused, few rooms that had anything to offer the temporary resident aside from a hardwood floor or scattered pages from the books that had been in the library.

He shivered. Half the windows in the ballroom were gone, and it was horribly cold. They ought to just go back. Nino skipped ahead, dodging broken glass to hop up the handful of stairs to the platform where the throne had been. Where Sho’s father had presided over court for years, never truly believing the whispers that the people, his own generals, would rise up against him. It was a throne that would have been Sho’s, if things had been different.

Nino stood, looking out over the empty expanse. “Was it nice, back then?”

He was always so curious about life before. Nino’s parents owned an inn a few miles from the border with Chiba to the east. He’d been poor, achingly so since few travelers passed through town in the years before and after the Glorious Revolt. Nobody had the money to travel. His parents had sent him to Keio at thirteen, where he’d moved in with a candlemaking uncle to learn the trade. The uncle, debt-ridden, skipped town a short time later, the bank snatching up the property and leaving Nino homeless. Instead of going home, though, Nino had stayed in Keio, gotten himself mixed up in thievery and forgery, meeting up with and working for the people who’d driven his uncle into bankruptcy.

Mita Palace, the royal family, these were abstract concepts to a boy who’d grown up so far from the capital, who’d then spent most of his time in train stations learning to slice open pockets or cause a distraction so a comrade might succeed in the endeavor. But for Jun, he’d lived it. Sneaking to the kitchens to steal leftover sweet pastries from fetes and grand parties. Walking the servants’ corridors, the narrow passages and steep steps out of sight. Envying the large, beautiful rooms of the palace that merely existed to house more of the royal family’s art.

“It was nice, yeah,” Jun replied honestly.

They’d passed through the servants’ halls, which had been just as thoroughly ruined as the rest of the palace. The dining table where Jun had shared meals with footmen and scullery maids alike was gone, probably chopped up into firewood over a decade earlier. Nino had asked where his bedroom had been, and Jun had lied, saying he couldn’t quite remember. He simply didn’t want to see it, the room he’d shared with his mother since his birth. The room with the bell that went off at all hours of the day, calling his mother on Queen Kanako’s every whim. No, he didn’t need to see that room again, to see what people had done to it.

Nino nodded, shivering a little. “Just a few more rooms off this way, right?”

Before Jun could answer, a scream pierced the silent, heavy air, and Jun nearly pissed himself in fright. Nino whirled, pistol at the ready. It was a man’s voice, a sorrowful, gut-wrenching scream that Jun felt all the way to the marrow of his bones.

“Fighting over a bedroll, you think?” Nino asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing. The tremor in his voice gave him away.

“Not really interested in finding out. We should go.”

There was another loud scream, and though Nino seemed to tighten his grip on his pistol, there was a peculiar look on his face. “That’s no fight,” Nino decided. “That’s just one person.”

“And you think we ought to see what’s making him holler like that?” Jun asked, shaking his head. “Probably just some nut.” When another shout broke the silence of the palace, he shut his eyes. He knew better than Nino what kind of shouts they were. Jun had heard them, so many times, at the front. Nightmares.

“Could be a nut between the ages of thirty and thirty-five,” Nino teased, lifting his coat and shoving his gun back in his waistband. “Hell, I’d settle for a forty year old uncle with a youthful face at this point.”

“Nino,” Jun protested, but there was no arguing with him. 

He followed Nino out of the ballroom and down another hallway. The screams had stopped, but Nino proceeded cautiously, jiggling doorknobs and making plenty of noise so whoever might be behind the closed doors would know someone was out here, on to them. The first two rooms were empty and smelled worse than death to Jun, but the third had an occupant.

It was pitch black, but Jun could hear heaving sobs coming from one corner. “Let’s have a look,” Nino said, and Jun obeyed, holding the lantern aloft.

Amidst the garbage-strewn floor, there was a man sitting up on a cardboard mat, his whole body shaking. Even though Jun and Nino had opened the door, the man hadn’t seemed to notice or care. He was clad in a large wool coat that looked worn, but decently warm. A red scarf was tucked around his neck, and a brown leather bag was behind him, probably serving as some sort of pillow. His face was mostly hidden under messy black hair that hung about his face in greasy clumps. But if he’d been homeless, he hadn’t been for long. His clothes, his boots, they were too well-maintained.

It was Nino who decided to make introductions. “You alright, friend?”

When the man looked up, seeming surprised that he’d been addressed, Jun nearly dropped the lantern when he saw the man’s face. He’d probably gone a week or so without a shave and maybe a few months without a decent meal, considering his sunken cheeks, but upon seeing the man’s frightened eyes, Jun was astonished.

“Sho-kun?” he whispered, wondering if it was a trick of the light.

The man looked away. “Have I disturbed you? I apologize.” He plucked nervously at the scarf around his neck. “I have trouble sleeping.”

Jun was trembling now, and not from the cold. The resemblance, even fifteen years gone, was uncanny. Though there was none of Sho’s youthful vigor, his prideful bearing, this man could have been his double. Nino poked him. “What’s wrong?”

Jun shook his head, unable to speak. He was seeing what he wanted to see. All these years, he’d known. He’d known in his heart that Sho was gone, that they were all gone. The rumors, about Eriko, about all the Sakurai children, they’d broken him again and again. They were dead. They were still dead, and no wishful thinking or longing could return any of them. This man just had the unfortunate privilege of looking like a Sakurai, that was all.

Nino took the lantern from Jun’s fingers and walked over. Perhaps Nino had already interpreted his reaction favorably, knew that they’d found their man. Despite the smell and the debris, Nino set the lantern down and sat a few feet from the homeless man, the picture of caring concern.

“How long you been here?”

The man looked as though he wanted to shrink himself, to hide away. He probably assumed they were here to rob him of whatever he had left and was considering his options. “Few days. I’m not from Keio.”

Nino lifted his knee, resting a gloved hand atop it. “Got a job?”

“Not yet. I’ve been looking, but it’s an unfortunate time of year.”

“That’s a year-round phenomenon in Keio, you’ll find,” Nino said. He was using casual speech with this stranger, his most charming tones. Yeah, Nino had found his target and was ready to pounce. Jun, still a bit dazed from their surprising discovery, hovered in the doorway feeling like nothing more than Nino’s thug.

“I’ll try again come morning,” the man said, and the more Jun listened to him speak, the more he wondered if it was Sho’s voice he was hearing or if he was merely replacing his memories with this man’s voice and lying to himself. They’d been teenagers. This was a man grown. Jun’s own voice had changed and deepened, over time. 

“I’m Ninomiya,” Nino said easily, even as the stranger seemed exhausted and desperate for them to leave him be. His politeness was more than Jun and Nino deserved. “What about you?”

“Yoshimoto. I’m Yoshimoto, recently of Takanawa.” There, Jun thought, it’s not him. But there was such hesitance in the way the man said his own name, like the syllables were heavy and foreign on his tongue.

“Your age?” Nino pressed.

“Thirty-three,” Yoshimoto replied, but he was as unsure about that answer as he’d been about his name.

“Yoshimoto-san, I’ve got a proposition for you, if you’d like to hear it,” Nino said.

Obviously Yoshimoto had little choice but to hear him out, with Nino so cozy beside him and Jun blocking his only exit. Jun took a step forward, if only to satisfy his painful curiosity. The lantern light cast shadows on Yoshimoto’s face, but despite the haunted look in his eyes, so many of his features reminded Jun of Sho. His brow, the shape of his nose, his mouth.

“Matsumoto-kun and I are looking for a friend for a new business venture.” Jun didn’t see any reaction from Yoshimoto upon hearing his name, which ought to have reassured him that this person wasn’t Sho. But Matsumoto was a fairly common surname, so what did it matter? And why did he care?

“Employment?” Yoshimoto asked, and for the first time Jun heard the slightest amount of hope in his voice.

“Not in the way you’ve probably known it,” Nino admitted. “We hope to undertake a journey from Keio to Chiba. We’re still in the process of procuring transport and travel visas, but we anticipate leaving before the winter is over.”

“Traveling salesmen?” Yoshimoto asked curiously. “I’ve no experience with such things but…”

Nino leaned over, patting the man on the shin. Jun was surprised the man didn’t back away, but since he was unemployed and homeless, his options were slim already. “Not quite, but we’d ask only that you work hard and be discreet.”

Yoshimoto’s face fell. “Is it unlawful?”

Nino waved a hand. “What’s unlawful, Yoshimoto-san, is the way this country runs. You can’t find a job, thousands can’t find jobs. People are starving. Minato, it’s a lost cause, wouldn’t you agree? It’s why we’re going to try our luck in Chiba.”

“What do I bring to the venture? I don’t know you and you don’t know me, and grateful as I am for your…offer, it’s a bit odd that you’ve come to a place like this looking for a business partner.”

“Nino,” Jun said sharply, finally interrupting. He stepped into the hall without looking back, hearing Nino offer Yoshimoto a smarmy apology before joining him there in the darkened corridor.

“He’s the spitting image, I saw it in your face,” Nino pointed out as soon as they were alone again.

“We should leave him be,” Jun found himself saying, even as he wanted to go back in and ask him questions, ask him about the Sakurai family or if he was lying. King Hiroki had been many things, but he hadn’t been unfaithful to the Queen as far as he knew. The servants always knew such things, and if the King had had a secret bastard son, it would have been known to them. And yet…

“Jun-kun,” Nino said, shaking his arm, “this is the closest we’ve come. I’ve never seen you look so spooked in your life. He obviously must look like Sakurai Sho, he’s the right age…”

“We only found him because he was screaming in his sleep. Something’s not right,” Jun protested.

“He doesn’t seem crazy to me,” Nino said. “I’ve seen crazy and that’s not it. I’d bet a week’s rice ration that he’s not even carrying a knife in that bag of his to defend himself. Another few days in Keio and he’ll be dead, from trying to steal or from one of the actual crazies in this palace.”

“He’s a stranger.”

“And so was I, when you met me.”

He stared at Nino’s dark shape before him, knowing Nino was staring right back. Nino had an innate sense about people, he always had. He could read someone, know that they were liable to short him on money for one of his forgeries. He knew exactly how to talk the grandmas at the market snack stalls into giving him a few more roasted nuts or sweets. Nino understood people far better than Jun ever would, and it seemed he’d only needed a few minutes with the nightmare-having stranger to be assured that he was worth the investment.

“It’s a risk,” Jun said.

“It’s free money, calling our names. This man, he’s our ticket out.”

“And who’s going to tell him that? You?”

He could just sense that Nino was smirking. “A man desperate for employment will do just about anything. He’ll come around, once we tell him about the reward.” Nino paused, and this time Jun felt Nino’s fingers brush against his cheek. “He really does look like him?”

Jun shut his eyes. “Yes.”

“Buck up, then. Because he’s going to make us filthy rich.”

**—then—**

“They’re not all here,” says the angry voice. “They’re not all here.”

Ah, it must be roll call. He’s stuck, he struggles, but he’s slower than he ought to be. Something in his drink. Something in his drink! His brain and his limbs have shut off communication. His signals are being ignored, and he can hear them lining up on the other side of the wall. It must be Headmaster Joshima. It must be roll call.

“Doesn’t matter. Get this over with,” says another angry voice. “Do this and we’ll take care of him when we find him.”

A woman’s voice. “Please, not the children. I beg of you. Not the children.”

The signal from his brain to his arm takes ages, but he manages to press his hand to the wall, the closest to her voice. Why is she here? It’s a boys’ school. He’s in his room under the stairwell, isn’t he, so why is he hearing a woman? Again and again she begs for the children. This is a very strange roll call today.

“Where is he? Tear this place apart!” Angry Voice demands, and there’s a boy who’s crying and a girl who’s crying. Again and again the woman begs for the children. Why is there a woman? Why is there a girl? Why is he on the other side?

“I’m here, Headmaster, I’m present,” he wants to shout from behind the wall. He wants to shout to the people lining up. “I’m right here, by your side. I wouldn’t leave you, not now. I would never, ever leave you.”

He looks at his hand, pressed to the wall. This passageway, it’s hidden. But no, it’s under the stairwell. No, it’s not. Cherry blossoms falling. Cherry blossoms falling. They used to play here. They used to hide here. But the angry voices don’t know that, do they? Where is he? Where is he? He wonders how many boys are still in the courtyard, shooting marbles. They’re going to miss the roll call.

“Not the children, please!”

“Step away!”

“Mama!”

He looks at his hand, pressed to the wall, and before he can raise it, before he can knock, before he can make himself known, before he can come to the roll call, the man’s grip on him tightens. Oh, it’s him. It’s him. “I’m here!” he wants to shout, but then the man’s hand is covering his mouth. “I’m here! I would never, ever leave you.”

There’s another man on the other side of the wall, they’ve just brought him in. He sounds surprised. He’s been surprised for years now. He’s still so surprised. “Must it be this way? Must it be this way for my children?”

I would never, ever leave you. I would never, ever leave you. Do they know this? Do they know this? He can hear the fear in their voices. There are four. There are four on the other side of the wall. The man won’t let him raise his hand. The man won’t let him raise his hand to be counted.

Bang.

Bang.

The wall splinters. Screams. Screams. Bang. Bang. The wall splinters. I’m here, I’m here to be counted! He hears them fall, one after another. Why is he on the other side?

Then it comes through the wall, like a marble skittering fast across the ice. It comes through the wall, it’s so fast, and it slams into him. Into him, tearing. Into him, burning. He can’t scream because the hand is still over his mouth. He’s dragged, he’s dragged through the passageway because they’re still firing and it’s loud enough that they won’t hear the footsteps now. 

He hears them fall, one after another. I would never, ever leave you. I would never, ever leave you. 

The roll call is finished. 

**—now—**

Takamatsu Residence Block 9  
Keio, Workers’ Republic of Minato

He woke to the smell of fresh, hot coffee and thankfully not to a nightmare. They barely had enough blankets for themselves, but they’d cobbled some things together and let him stay in the main room of their apartment. He’d been half asleep last night, following them to their residence block. Before they’d let him inside, the little guy had dragged him into one of the public bath houses a few buildings over. It had been closed for the night, but the man, Ninomiya, he’d woken the old woman who ran the place, shoved some coins in her hand so she’d let them through.

“Sorry, friend,” Ninomiya had told him, shoving him inside. “That palace is a nasty place. We can’t afford to have any fleas or lice coming along with you.”

He’d wanted to protest that he didn’t have any lice, but after a few nights barely sleeping in Mita Palace, he couldn’t actually confirm that. Thankfully, they’d let him strip down without watching him, had let him wash up with a scrub brush they bought from the old woman before he eased his exhausted body into a lukewarm pool of water. He didn’t want to have to explain his wounds to these men. If they saw them, maybe they’d abandon him for their venture, whatever it was. It was the best bath he’d had in ages, and he nearly cried in gratitude, sloughing off the dirt, the dried sweat he’d been carrying the last several days.

When he’d come out, toweling off, he’d found new clothes waiting for him in the changing room. A long-sleeved shirt and trousers that were a little big, but they’d left him an old leather belt. Even a new coat. Clean underwear. He didn’t ask questions, not after they went to all the trouble on his behalf. He was only sad about losing his scarf.

Ninomiya-san was in the room with him now, setting down a mug of coffee and half a biscuit for him. “You snore.”

“I’m sorry,” Koya said quietly. At least he hadn’t screamed.

“Jun-kun’s at work,” Ninomiya said, settling down with his own coffee and some newspapers. “He comes back in the afternoon. He delivers fish, so he might smell bad. He’s a bit sensitive about it, it’s cute.”

This Jun-kun, Matsumoto-san, had barely uttered a sentence in Koya’s presence since they’d met. Ninomiya was the chatty one, but it was Matsumoto that had held his attention. He’d looked at Koya with astonishingly intense focus the night before. Koya had looked away quickly when their eyes had met, a strange feeling twisting in his gut. If Koya didn’t know any better, he’d be convinced Matsumoto Jun knew him. Had they known each other? If they had, it was before Koya had ended up in the hospital. Awake again, he felt a strange sort of guilt. All these years nobody had come for him, nobody had looked at him the way Matsumoto-san had. But to Koya, Matsumoto was a stranger.

He sat up, body still wrapped up in his blankets. The biscuit was a bit dry, but he’d barely eaten the last few days and he was grateful for anything at all. For a room with heat, for clean clothes, for a future.

Ninomiya sipped his coffee. “Sleep okay?”

Koya nodded.

“Suppose you’ll be wanting an explanation sooner or later, huh?”

He couldn’t help grinning at Ninomiya’s straightforward manner of speaking. “You haven’t harmed me so far. And you’ve already been very generous. I get the impression you’ve some need of me, or you wouldn’t be so…pampering.”

“It’s entirely self-serving, our venture,” Ninomiya continued. “Ever been to Chiba?”

Yes, his mind immediately answered, but Koya ignored it. He’d been feeling strange ever since he’d arrived in Keio, but he wanted so badly to be needed, to be useful, that he didn’t dare let his new comrades learn of his distress. He had no money to return to Takanawa, nor any confidence that he could find employment here. Their arrival the night before had been a sign he couldn’t ignore. He’d do whatever they asked. “Not that I can remember, no.” That, at least, was the truth.

Ninomiya raised an eyebrow at his answer but turned to the stack of papers on the table before him. “I’ll tell it to you straight, Yoshimoto-san. The King and Queen of Chiba are offering a monetary reward for proof that any members of their family survived what happened years ago.”

“The royal family?” Koya asked. By the time he’d been released from the hospital, it had been more than a year since the Sakurai family’s assassination. The Loyalist uprising had been nearly at its end, and General Kitagawa had conquered Keio. In Takanawa, they’d been nothing but an afterthought. A cautionary tale of excess.

“Matsumoto and I intend to make our way to Chiba and present the King with his nephew. In order to collect that reward.”

“His nephew?” Koya mumbled. 

“Yep.” Ninomiya deftly took apart the pen he was using, refilling it with ink. “Problem we’ve been having is that Matsumoto and I don’t have the right look. You do.”

“What do you mean?”

Ninomiya looked up, smiling. “Congratulations, Yoshimoto-san. You look just like Sakurai Sho, the Crown Prince of Minato.”

He was quiet for a while, taking in what Ninomiya was telling him. All these years, Koya had lived quietly. He’d kept out of the way, enduring the pain in his shoulder in order to earn his place at Gyoranzaka. He’d been nobody special, and for that matter, nobody worth remembering.

“I’m no prince,” he replied.

“That doesn’t matter,” Ninomiya said, waving off his doubts. “It’s your face that will get you in the door. Jun-kun can fill in the blanks.”

That twisting in his gut returned. “The blanks?”

“His mother was the Queen’s maid. He grew up in the palace, knew Sakurai Sho and his family. So it’s my job to get us to Chiba.” He gestured to the pile of papers before him. “Travel visas, my contribution. Jun-kun will be your acting coach. And you, Yoshimoto-san, you just have to smile and answer whatever questions the Aiba family throws at you.”

The Aiba family, who’d ruled Chiba for years and had managed to keep their country neutral even as Minato’s years of civil war endured. Ninomiya and Matsumoto actually thought this plan would work?

“Your goal is to deceive these people?”

Ninomiya chuckled. “Think of how happy they’ll be, knowing at least one of their kin survived that slaughter. We’re doing them a favor.”

“But it’s a lie,” Koya said, his head aching. “And a pretty big one, at that. You’re asking me to lie to a King and a Queen and…”

“Well, mainly it’s the Prince you have to convince,” Ninomiya interrupted. “Officially, it’s the King and Queen putting money on the table, but it’s only to keep their son happy. Their heir, Prince Masaki, he’s a bit of a…how should I put it, a conspiracy theorist? He’s the one who’s believed the rumors from day one, that someone lived. You can’t blame the guy. Sakurai Sho and his siblings were his first cousins. He and Crown Prince Sho were even born in the same year, and they were apparently close as kids so…”

Koya nearly tipped his mug, feeling the throb in his head as the coffee sloshed around. “I’m sorry.”

Ninomiya was eyeing him carefully. “You alright?”

Chiba, the King, the Queen. He’d had no reaction. But the phrase “Prince Masaki,” it took the knot in Koya’s stomach, the knot that had already formed when he’d met Matsumoto Jun, and twisted it tighter. Prince Masaki. Prince Masaki, the heir of the nation to the east.

“I’m fine,” he lied, clearing his throat and trying to ignore the growing pain. Was he this exhausted from his days in Mita Palace, shivering in the cold? “So I’d be lying to this Prince? I’d be pretending I was the cousin he grew up with? What if he asks something I couldn’t answer, not even with Matsumoto-san’s help?”

“It’s going to take a while to get to Maku-Harihongo. If you haven’t noticed, it’s not exactly easy to leave Minato these days. By the time we arrive, you’ll have even convinced yourself that you’re the Crown Prince, I have no doubt. You wanna know how much money they’re prepared to shower you with?”

Ninomiya offered Koya a rough outline of their plan. They would be taking the train to the border with Chiba - only one train left each day for the border town of Funabori. Tickets for that route were outrageously expensive and difficult to obtain. Upon arrival there, they’d have to pass a checkpoint to enter Chiba through Funabori’s neighboring town, Urayasu. The train tracks in Chiba were built on a narrower gauge, so they’d have to board a new train from Urayasu to the capital city of Maku-Harihongo, where Prince Masaki and his parents ruled. Ninomiya would break a dozen laws, if not more, by forging their travel visas and creating fake identity cards. Given the price of transport (and the superiority of Chiba’s currency), Matsumoto and Ninomiya would be selling everything they owned for ticket money and for accommodations upon arrival. Apparently they had no plans to return to Minato.

It was a huge risk they were taking. Breaking laws. Giving up everything they had, just for a shot at the money. Giving up everything, and lying and cheating at every turn. Because it was their idea, the “reward” money from Prince Masaki and his parents would be split three ways, even if it was on Koya’s shoulders entirely to be convincing. Their “finder’s fee,” Ninomiya explained to him. But before any of that, they had to get there.

As Koya had recently experienced, taking the train from Takanawa to Keio, transportation in Minato was hazardous at the best of times and almost deadly at the worst. Though the country was more stable than it had been in recent years, emigration was discouraged. In the countryside, many farmers were increasingly tied down to their farms, expected to meet government quotas. Moving elsewhere was out of the question. Even as families without quotas to meet arrived in the capital in droves, Koya had seen the prices here for basic foodstuffs, for a place to stay even for just one night. 

Headmaster Joshima had gotten Koya to Keio with the help of his friend, a railway employee named Kokubun. It was Kokubun who’d ensured that a ticket and visa had arrived in Takanawa, his own personal stamp that had kept the guards on the train from harassing him. As he’d sat, watching the snowy countryside go by, he’d seen others removed from the train. Those who’d been unable to pay the full fare, only because a “price increase” had just been enacted (which was really just the train guards banding together to extort money from vulnerable passengers). Those who had visas with the wrong stamps (because the stamps sometimes changed after they’d already been sold, the passengers receiving no notice). They’d been kicked out with no remorse, and not always at a station. Koya had shuddered when the train had screeched to a halt, a family of six booted off into the snow with only the clothes on their backs.

“Do you really believe it’s better to risk so much than to stay here?” Koya asked. “If we’re discovered at any point, at least in Minato, we’d be executed.”

“You’re the one who left that palace with two strangers, Yoshimoto-san,” Ninomiya replied. There was an odd sort of calm in his face, as though he’d almost prefer execution to spending the rest of his life in Minato. He wondered what had made him this way. “You took a chance. You heard opportunity calling.”

“To be fair, Ninomiya-san, you described this as a business venture.”

“Oh, it’s business all right. Strictly business. The business of prying a few thousand gold coins from the coffers of some sentimental, fancy pants prince who refuses to accept that fifteen years ago his beloved, equally fancy pants cousin took a bullet to the head.”

Koya winced, his shoulder throbbing.

Ninomiya continued, ignoring his distress. “You just have to smile and give the poor sap a reason to believe.”

“And then what?” Koya asked. “You think the ruling regime in Minato will sit idly by when Chiba announces the Sakurai heir survived the assassination?”

He received a rather dismissive shrug in response, Ninomiya shuffling his papers. Other forgeries, Koya suspected. The man was a criminal, through and through. “I’m not in this for the political message it may send,” Ninomiya explained. “I just want their money.”

**—**

Ohno Fishmongers  
Keio, Workers’ Republic of Minato

He’d finished stacking the empty crates in the warehouse, heading back to clock out for the day. He paused when he passed by the metal staircase. It led up to the second floor, where his boss’ office and small apartment were. He wondered if the man was asleep already.

“You coming for drinks tonight?” Shun asked, surprising Jun from behind and jabbing at the ticklish spot in his side. Back at the front, Jun would have treated a tickler to a glimpse of his bayonet, but those days were long gone.

He groaned, hearing Shun cackle and come around to face him. “What can you even order these days?”

Shun rolled his eyes. “Not that expensive for a pint at Vermilion, but that’s probably because they water it down so much.”

“No money tonight, have fun,” Jun replied. 

Shun and a few of the other guys who worked in the warehouse headed off, waving. Jun had no intention of setting foot in a bar, at least a Keio bar, ever again. Every single yen he had was going towards Chiba, save for what he and Nino paid each month in rent. They were going to have to break their lease and pay the difference, a steep financial setback given their already precarious situation. Finding Yoshimoto-san had spurred Nino into action, and Jun hadn’t exactly been prepared for how quickly Nino intended to set their plan in motion.

They would leave Keio once Nino had all their papers in order. It was dangerous work, but Nino didn’t seem too bothered. In order to best emulate the current stamps for his usual forgeries, he bribed employees at government bureaus with alcohol, with cigarettes, with cash. But with documents for the three of them, for the documents that would get them out of the country, Nino wasn’t going to risk bribes. Any man could be persuaded to talk, to give Nino away. Instead Nino planned to lurk around the train station, observe ticket prices and other passengers. He also planned to sneak into government offices, risking capture to go through the desks and file cabinets of the people he usually just plied with tobacco.

Jun had offered to go with him, keep a lookout, but Nino had refused. “You need to keep an eye on our new friend,” Nino had said the night before while Yoshimoto Koya had been in the baths. Not knowing the man, Nino had decided that one of them always had to be with him, in case he was more sinister than he appeared. Jun wasn’t looking forward to being alone with him, with a man who looked so much like Sho. A complete stranger with his friend’s face.

Work complete for the day, he took the stairs two at a time. Any day now, he’d have to climb these stairs and say that he was quitting. Much as Jun was committed to the plan with Nino, to getting out of Minato and finding a better life, he wasn’t looking forward to inconveniencing his employer. Any of the warehouse guys could probably fill his place, driving the truck, but Jun had forged close relationships with so many restaurants and grocers. He was going to leave abruptly, without introducing his replacement to their usual customers. He feared that Ohno Fishmongers would lose business, and that would be entirely his fault.

He’d worked for Ohno Satoshi since they’d been discharged twelve years ago. Back then, Ohno’s father had still been running the business, their fleet of fishing boats that went out in the wee hours of the morning from Keio Bay’s North Harbor. Ohno himself had captained his own boat since leaving school at fifteen, and nobody knew the waters like he did. Now at 35, Ohno only went out on the water once a week, and Jun could see how much it bothered him. In charge of the entire enterprise, Ohno stayed back at the warehouse, overseeing each morning’s catch, ordering his employees around in his soft, but firm voice. Instead of his rod and reel, or even his fillet knife, most of Ohno’s days were spent with his ledgers, grumbling under his breath when he found errors from his own hasty math.

“I was a really bad student,” Ohno often admitted, erasing and erasing with a scowl on his face.

Jun had been a poor employee, those first years. At first, Ohno’s father had put him on his son’s boat, a true kindness, but Jun was a lousy fisherman, lacking the focus and patience required, complaining about the calluses on his hands when they’d haul up a net full of shrimp. Despite his uncooperative, spoiled beginnings, the Ohno family kept him on, shifting him to the warehouse and then to the deliveries. When they could have let him go to hire someone better, they’d kept him. Jun owed his livelihood to Ohno Satoshi and his family. He’d never had to stand in an employment line. He’d never gone hungry, all these years.

Because of the secrecy of their plan and their departure, he couldn’t tell anyone about what he and Nino were doing. So he was just going to up and leave. A poor employee to the end.

By the time Jun left most days, Ohno was usually dozing on the couch in his office. He’d made few changes since his father had retired, save for the massive taxidermied amberjacks mounted on the wall that he’d caught himself. Today he was still awake, sketching without a care in the world. There were government forms to be filled out, since many of the businesses Ohno Fishmongers sold to were grocers under partial or total goverment oversight. With the high cost of procuring red meat and pork, the continued operation of businesses like Ohno’s were deemed “government essential.” For the owner, however, it meant constant auditing. It meant keeping their books clean, even though everyone in the warehouse knew Ohno slipped food to shelters and beggars all the time.

Ohno hated paperwork, to the point that he’d almost begged his father to leave his sister in charge of the company when he retired so he could stay on his boat. Ohno’s father hadn’t agreed. The work always got done, even if Ohno had to forego sleep to fill out the stacks of forms. He procrastinated instead by sketching fish, drawing doodles of boats and even his employees. Ohno had made the mistake of drawing Jun only once, sketching him with eyebrows so thick that Jun had torn it to pieces in embarrassment.

He tapped his fingers on the door, and Ohno looked up, waving him inside. He was a small man, not someone you’d immediately pick out of a line-up as a boss of any sort, but he commanded enormous respect both among his employees and within the community. So long as some of the “not quite up to standards” shellfish secretly found its way into stew pots that helped the less fortunate, Ohno Fishmongers wasn’t going anywhere. Jun peered over his boss’ shoulder, the privilege of being the man’s friend, grinning at the day’s current drawing. It was the government man, from the Food and Agriculture Bureau. For some reason, Ohno-san had drawn the man’s head on top of a donkey’s body. Ohno had no love for the current government.

“If Nagano-san ever catches you, they’ll string you up in the square.”

Ohno set down his pencil and smiled. “I don’t know, I think it’s a pretty good likeness.”

“I’m heading out,” Jun announced, flipping through the paperwork Ohno was working on. All he’d completed so far was filling in the company’s address and his own name. They were due in the morning.

Ohno eyed him curiously. “Something the matter, Jun-kun?”

Was he that transparent? He ached to tell Ohno about Yoshimoto Koya. Aside from Nino, Ohno was the only person who knew about Jun’s life before the army. He was the only one who’d understand what was wrong. But he couldn’t say a word. And he couldn’t even drop a hint that their friendship was nearing its end. Jun doubted he’d be able to get a letter through once they reached Chiba, not without the government opening his letter and censoring it until the remaining words held no meaning. Jun wanted to be near his friend, even if it was a bother. He was going to miss him terribly.

“Long day.”

“Better a long day of hard work than one without,” Ohno said, offering a rather silly impersonation of his father.

It made Jun smile. There was little to smile about in Keio these days, but somehow Ohno could always produce results. “You going to finish those on time?” Jun teased.

“Don’t I always?” Ohno shot back.

Jun gripped the older man by his shoulders, giving him a shake. Another thing he got away with, another thing he’d miss. “Stop procrastinating, Boss Man.”

Ohno shoved him away, chuckling. “I’ll dock your pay, you rascal.”

“No you won’t,” Jun said, buttoning his coat. “See you tomorrow.”

His smile quickly faded once he was on the street, bundled up and heading for home. When Jun had nothing, Ohno had been there. And because of Yoshimoto Koya, because they’d found someone so perfect, Jun would throw it all away. He’d made Nino a promise, that if they ever left Keio they’d leave together. He just hadn’t realized the opportunity would arrive so quickly.

Nino was overjoyed by Jun’s return, putting on his coat and boots before Jun had even taken off his own coat. Nino had an important date with himself at Aoyama Station. The train for Funabori, an overnight route, left Aoyama at 9:00 PM every day. He was going to loiter at the station the rest of the afternoon and throughout the evening, eyeballing the train to determine which car would be the best one to reserve a compartment. He was going to check what passengers were wearing, the luggage they were bringing. He was also planning to observe security, the degree to which visas and tickets were looked at before passengers boarded. Nino had moved up the pickpocket racket as a teenager, knew Aoyama Station like the back of his hand. He assured Jun that he’d be safe, that he’d come home, patting his arm and heading out into the night.

Jun went to his room to change, acknowledging Yoshimoto-san with a quick nod. He wondered if he could get away with telling the stranger that he was tired, having his dinner and going straight to bed. But no, Jun knew he couldn’t do that. If Nino was doing his part, doing recon work at the station, then Jun had to hold up his own end of things. He knew specifics that were going to get Yoshimoto in the door in Maku-Harihongo. Of the servants that had lived at Mita Palace with the royal family, Jun knew he was likely the only one left alive. Many others had been executed as Loyalists whether they had been or not. It was Jun’s responsibility to turn Yoshimoto Koya, the homeless man from the palace into Sakurai Sho, the person who’d lived there before it had been turned into a ruin.

He cleaned his glasses with a cloth, emerging back into the sitting room in a shirt and slacks. Yoshimoto had cleaned up nicely, Jun had to admit. Clean-shaven, hair combed neatly. He was sitting with his legs under the kotatsu, paging through the newspapers Nino had delivered every morning to check if anyone was placing secret messages in Help Wanted ads. From the ink-blackened state of Yoshimoto’s fingertips, the man had been reading non-stop for quite some time.

“According to the law, we have freedom of the press in Keio,” Jun said to break the silence, moving around Yoshimoto to the kitchen. “What do you think, Yoshimoto-san?”

He heard the man chuckle quietly, a warm sound that put Jun at ease. A day spent in Nino’s company had softened him already. He still seemed a bit stiff, his shoulders hunched, but he didn’t seem quite like the frightened rabbit caught in a trap that he’d been the night before.

Yoshimoto folded the paper in half, gesturing to a photograph in the Business section. “Highest production at this factory in a decade, it says,” Yoshimoto said cheerily, tapping with his finger. “Funny, I walked past it the other day and saw workers picketing, protesting about unpaid wages. Needless to say, they weren’t hiring.”

“The newspaper would have you believe we live in a paradise,” Jun said. “I don’t read them. If I want to read a fictional story, I’ll pick up a novel. Tea?”

“Please.”

Jun put the kettle on, busying himself in the kitchen to avoid making any further small talk. There was plenty of that to come, he was sure of it. He listened to the sound of the newspaper rustling, getting out cups, saucers, and spoons. Rummaging through their sad, thrumming little icebox, he took a whiff of the milk bottle and deemed it still okay to consume. Before he realized it, he’d poured two cups of tea, one for himself that he took with a cube of sugar and one for Sho with milk the way he always liked it.

He paused, about to stir the tea with the spoon. He shut his eyes. In trying to shut out Yoshimoto, he’d only reopened wounds that had never fully closed. He’d made tea for Sakurai Sho. Exhaling slowly, he set down the teaspoon. “How do you take yours?” he called into the other room. Say sugar, he prayed. Say sugar and I can breathe. Say sugar so you aren’t him.

“With milk, if you have it.”

He set the saucers on a small tray, brought them into the sitting room. It was a coincidence. Lots of people liked milk in their tea. 

“Thanks very much, Matsumoto-san.”

Jun drank his tea slowly, a bit stunned with how quickly Yoshimoto had made himself comfortable in their apartment. Though he supposed that if he’d spent a few nights sleeping in Mita Palace as it was now, a dark, drafty place like theirs might seem a luxury. “Nino told you everything?”

Yoshimoto nodded, looking up from the papers. “I find it to be a very risky plan.”

“You want to back out?”

Yoshimoto was unable to meet his eyes. Jun wanted to take his glasses off, turn the man into a blur. He didn’t want to stare at the shape of his brown eyes, the fullness of his lips, all the little bits and pieces that were Sho, but on the wrong person’s face. “I have very few options. Few skills. Before I came here, I worked at a boys’ home, an orphanage I mean to say. I did groundskeeping work, odd jobs.”

“And before that job?”

“It was the only one I had,” Yoshimoto admitted. “Before that I…I can’t quite recall.”

“What do you mean?”

He lifted his teacup and drank, and Jun saw him make a strange face, a crinkling of his nose. Had he added too much milk? Yoshimoto took another sip, this time keeping his face neutral. When he set the cup back in the saucer, he looked forlorn. “I don’t remember. I really don’t. I was a soldier, I woke up in a hospital one day, but I had no memories. I only had my name.”

Jun had seen plenty of men like this when he’d been in the army, with personality and vigor one day and emptiness the next. Sometimes it was an explosion that knocked them off their feet, their head hitting the ground. Other times it was seeing a comrade pumped full of bullets beside them. “You told us last night you have trouble sleeping. We heard you crying out.”

Yoshimoto looked increasingly uncomfortable. “I have nightmares, more than I’d care to admit. If it happens when I’m under your care, please wake me. If it becomes too burdensome, I already told Ninomiya-san that you can find someone else for your venture. I don’t wish to cause any trouble.”

He didn’t know Yoshimoto Koya, but it was hard not to pity him. Partly it was his face, the too-familiar face grown to an adulthood that had been stolen from Sho. And partly it was Jun himself, who knew what it was like to wake in the night, short of breath, wishing it would all just stop. “You slept soundly last night.”

“They don’t come on a set schedule,” Yoshimoto said, offering a weak grin. “I have headaches sometimes as well. The doctors from the hospital, all those years back, they told me it was my memories struggling to surface. That one day it’ll all just flood back. I don’t like that prognosis much. The uncertainty. Fifteen years of it and how many more to come? I kept mostly to myself, Matsumoto-san, back at the boys’ home. My nightmares did a good job segregating me from the rest anyhow.”

“Nobody came to the hospital looking for you?”

Yoshimoto shook his head. “No, never. I’ve always assumed I was an orphan, drafted into service. It was what happened to a lot of boys at the home. They made up so much of the infantry, the people without families, the boys who wouldn’t be missed.”

Jun looked down, trembling slightly. He’d been an orphan soldier himself. “Maybe it’s a good thing, that you don’t know.”

Yoshimoto looked at him, his expression darkening.

“It’s my job to turn you into Sakurai Sho, the Crown Prince of Minato,” Jun said, feeling a little awkward. “If you don’t have any memories, it’ll be easier for me to teach you. If I tell you something that contradicts your own childhood experience, you wouldn’t know. You’ll have only the memories I give you.”

“Perhaps,” Yoshimoto said quietly. 

Jun gestured to Yoshimoto’s teacup. “But I guess some things will come more naturally. For example, it just so happens that Sho-kun always took his tea with milk.”

Yoshimoto froze. A too long silence descended on their sitting room, and Jun didn’t know what he’d done wrong. He didn’t know until Yoshimoto finally regained his composure, scratching the back of his neck.

“The prince, you…you addressed him so informally?”

“Huh?”

“You said ‘Sho-kun always took his tea with milk.’ Matsumoto-san, didn’t you notice?”

“No.” Now it was Jun’s turn to be quiet. “But I…I did. I did call him Sho-kun.”

Yoshimoto’s eyes were surprisingly kind then. “Why?”

Jun allowed himself a sad smile. “Because we were friends.”


	3. Chapter 3

**—then—**

Mita Palace  
Keio, Kingdom of Minato

Nishikiori-san the head butler is fuming as always, clapping his hands for the footmen to get moving. It’s no secret in the servants’ hall that Princess Eriko’s violin skills are lacking, and the distinguished guests will want to reward themselves for enduring her performance. Which means that the appetizer trays need to be in the ballroom…now.

His mother’s upstairs already, out of the way and unobtrusive as always, but ready to swoop into action if the Queen has need of her. Kusanagi-san, one of the younger footmen, nudges Jun with his tray when he comes back into the hall to bring up the next round of treats that Cook and her staff are making. “Be lucky you’re down here, Jun-chan.”

He’s thirteen years old, and the way they still baby him here in the hall irritates him. “I can carry a tray just as good as you can.”

Kusanagi ruffles his hair and hurries off, leaving Jun alone at the table. His position in the servants’ hall has always been a strange one. The youngest scullery maid is of an age with him, but they don’t live in the servants’ quarters. They stay with their families in town and will only move in when they’re old enough to be full-time kitchen maids or housemaids. None of the footmen are younger than eighteen. But then of course, Jun is no ordinary servant.

His mother Hana came from Chiba with Queen Kanako, having been her lady’s maid since the Queen was a teenager. His mother’s pregnancy was grounds for dismissal, but the Queen had refused to part with her. Thus Jun became the first baby born in the servants’ hall in decades. And despite protocol, the Queen’s enduring favor for Matsumoto Hana meant that Jun had been raised alongside her own children. He’s always slept in the servants’ quarters, has always taken his meals there, but at the same time, Crown Prince Sho is the only friend of an age with him that he has. 

Crown Prince Sho who is upstairs right now, probably hiding his snickering behind his hand while his younger sister butchers some sonata or other. Jun’s been granted special privileges today. Instead of cleaning the hall at his usual time, he’s been given permission to watch Sho-kun’s performance. It’s a small affair by normal standards, a gathering of about fifty nobles to celebrate the second anniversary of Minato’s participation in the Western War.

Sho’s father had signed a treaty with the Kingdom of Kansai before Sho or Jun had been born, saying they would aid one another if either country went to war. It’s been two years, two long years, and thousands of Minato soldiers have given their lives for a “cause that isn’t theirs,” or so say the newspapers that some of the footmen sneak in. Jun could report them for reading such seditious newsletters, for reading essays that call for the King to step down (or be forced out) for pushing the country into a war it can’t afford.

“These are things we cannot comment on,” his mother has said to him again and again. The King is always right, such is the law of the land. To have ignored the treaty would have been dishonorable. Honor, Matsumoto Hana says, is something King Hiroki values above all else. Jun doesn’t understand much of it, since politics are not a matter for the servants, but Sho is angry about it. He’s angry that at fourteen, he is still excluded from his father’s war councils. He’s angry that he doesn’t know everything that’s going on and has to instead perform for the nobles. 

“He’s showing me off like I’m his pet,” Sho had complained to Jun the night before.

It’s nearly an hour before Nishikiori-san grants Jun permission to go upstairs, where he stands behind the tables full of appetizers and sweets. Dressed in his finest jacket and slacks, his hair oiled and slicked back, he cannot see the piano from where he is, but he knows that he’s late. He spies his mother nearby, holding the baby. Prince Ryota, for once, isn’t screaming his little baby head off.

He’s listened to Sho practice for nearly three weeks, the piano teacher stopping him again and again to offer corrections. Sho has a very short temper, something that Jun finds annoying about him. But today, he can’t hear any mistakes coming from the piano. Even though he’s mad about it, he’ll never show it when there’s a crowd. If only the nobles knew how grumpy their Crown Prince could be.

When Sho finishes, there’s the slightest parting of the crowd, the nobles applauding their Prince and his musical talents graciously. Unlike Eriko, they probably aren’t just clapping to be polite this time. Jun’s able to bend a little, straining his neck to look between a few members of the crowd to the center of the ballroom where Sho, dressed in a fine suit and wearing a red sash with his family’s crest, is bowing. Eventually Sho turns, directing his attention toward him. He straightens up, offering a wave that some nobleman thinks is meant for him. Jun doesn’t dare wave back, but he smiles from ear to ear. 

As soon as the applause dies down, Jun picks up an empty tray and heads back for the kitchens with it. The performances are over, and now the King will make some speeches. Jun changes into his livery, into his suit jacket with the Sakurai family crest that denotes him once again as a servant. He spends the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening being ordered around by Nishikiori-san.

He’s exhausted when he heads for bed, his mother most likely in the nursery with the Queen, tending to the baby prince. There’s a tap on the door shortly after he’s put out the light, and he grumbles, getting to his feet. What’s he forgotten to do now? But when he grabs his glasses from the bedside table and opens the door, it’s Sho.

They sneak through the servants’ stairwells, the secret routes that Jun taught Sho years earlier, arriving back in the ballroom. It’s empty now, silent as a tomb, and Sho shoves him when his slippers scuff against the floor. “Take them off, dummy.”

Jun rolls his eyes, but obeys. Moonlight shines through the large windows of the ballroom, breaking up the shadows. The piano has been moved back to the music room, leaving the room empty. Sho takes his usual seat at the far end of the room, plopping down on the throne. Jun takes his usual place on the stairs in front of him, yawning. Most of Sho’s complaints, at least the ones he shares with Jun, are about how powerless he feels. The heir to a country and he knows so little about governing. Jun sometimes wonders how much Sho knows about the world beyond Mita Palace, the riots in the street, the protests against the war. It’s something they don’t talk about, because Jun figures his mother has super hearing when it comes to topics he should avoid.

Sho sits on his father’s throne in his pajamas, slouching. “I’m glad that’s over. I hate playing the piano.”

“No you don’t,” Jun shoots back. 

Sho laughs. “Shut up.”

Sho is mean to him sometimes, lets out his frustrations on Jun. When they were kids, Sho had pushed him once and he’d fallen, breaking his wrist. When they were kids, Jun forgave him. Now he just deals with it, feels far more mature than his friend. Sho’s under a lot of pressure, but Jun’s not his punching bag anymore. One of these days, he thinks Sho will figure it out, will respect him more. After all, he’s the only friend Sho has, and Sho probably knows it. With the war on, Sho hasn’t been sent off to private school as planned, for fear he might be kidnapped by Kansai’s enemies. Instead he’s being tutored, all but trapped in the palace with nothing to do but give piano recitals by day and defiantly sit in his father’s place at night, ranting about all the injustices he endures.

“You did good. I didn’t hear you screw up once,” Jun says.

Sho crosses his arms, cocking his head. “High praise from you, Matsumoto-kun.”

Jun grins. In the daylight, Jun must defer to Sho. He must bow low to him, address him as “Your Highness” and never speak before being spoken to. It’s Jun who wakes before dawn to light the fire in Sho’s bedchamber, a task that belonged to the housemaids but that he’d asked for and received. Jun’s ambitions are high. With his education, being allowed to sit in on so many of Sho’s lessons, he believes he would be an excellent member of Sho’s future staff of advisors. After all, he’s spent so many hours of his life listening to Sho complain. And if his birth denies him such a position, he figures Sho can find a way around that. Sho will need friends in the days to come.

Though he’s technically just a servant, by night he is the confidante of the future king. By night, he’s free to speak his mind. He’s free to call Sho by name, something Sho’s insisted on since they were Eriko’s age.

“I wish you could have stayed,” Sho admits. “My mother made me speak with the Duchess of Atago again.”

“Eww,” Jun says, laughing. “The old lady with the bad breath?”

“She’s a warmonger, the old bat,” Sho replies. “I have to give her compliments so she’ll keep funding the war, you see. ‘Oh, my dear Duchess, all the makeup you’re wearing makes you look like less of a corpse than usual.’”

“She probably wants to marry you, with the sweet things you say.”

Sho makes a gagging noise. The only good thing about the war is that his betrothal has been postponed. The last thing Sho wants to think about is which foreign princess or highborn Minato lady he’ll have to marry someday. Sho starts another of his rants, about each of the nobles who fawned over him, hoping to curry favor. Like always, Sho talks and talks and talks, letting out everything he kept inside all day. The words only Jun is allowed to hear.

Jun lies on his back, the cold floor under him, dozing off to the sound of Sho’s complaints.

**—now—**

Takamatsu Residence Block 9  
Keio, Workers’ Republic of Minato

Koya paced back and forth, feeling that one of these days the rug would shred under his feet. “The name again?”

Matsumoto, sitting at the table, was astonishingly calm. “Kamenashi.”

“Kamenashi,” Koya repeated.

Matsumoto cocked his head, grinning. “A hint?”

“I don’t need a hint,” Koya snapped. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been rude to the man all day. “I’m sorry.”

“Kamenashi,” Matsumoto said once more. “We’ve got time.”

Koya stopped his pacing, exhaling. His feet ached from the effort of so many quick steps, doing his best to hide his limp. To hide the stiffness in his shoulder. If Ninomiya and Matsumoto had noticed his pain, they hadn’t yet commented on it. Two long weeks, mostly shut up in their apartment. Ninomiya took him out during the day when he wasn’t busy with his criminal enterprise, with working on their travel papers. Koya relished the trips to the public baths, getting out into the chilly air. It was February now, still bitterly cold, but at least the cold air reminded him there was more to the world than Takamatsu Residence Block.

All his years at Gyoranzaka, he’d walked the grounds. Shoveling the snow in winter, pulling weeds and cutting the grass in summer. Putting his hands to work by helping the kitchen staff to carry food into the dining hall. Koya didn’t like to be idle. He technically wasn’t idle, shut in the apartment with Matsumoto Jun night after night, but it was only his brain that was being put to work. A brain that simply wasn’t holding on to the information Matsumoto was telling him.

He’d been a good student initially. Matsumoto was an exacting instructor, teaching him proper table manners. Koya had picked it up fast, some of it almost like muscle memory. Matsumoto had moved on from that to basic court decorum, to how things had worked in Mita Palace. His mind was swimming with all the rules, so much that he was dreaming of them. He had dreams of the palace, walking its rooms, shouting orders to staff. The hours of lessons were staying with him even when he wasn’t awake.

But now as their second week of “school” was winding down, as Koya’s thirty-fourth birthday had come and gone, he was starting to hit a wall. Now that the “basics” were out of the way, Matsumoto was drilling him about noble families. There was no way Koya could march into Prince Masaki’s parlor and not know who these people were. He had to be believable. He had to become Sakurai Sho, who would know the Duke of Such-and-such’s family going back generations. He had to know at least the leading handful of families in Chiba as well, simply because Sakurai’s mother had been from there and he would have known them.

All these years, Koya had coped with pain, with his cramped life under the stairwell, but now, released from that simple life, he was discovering a lack of patience. He’d endured the boys’ teasing, the staff’s irritation over his nightmares. But now that Koya was being asked to step up, to actually use his brain rather than his body, he wasn’t succeeding. The frustration made him lash out again and again at Matsumoto Jun, who demanded more and more of him each day.

“Kamenashi,” Koya said. “The Kamenashi family is from…the east.”

“Correct,” Matsumoto acknowledged. Hours upon hours they’d been in this room together, sharing meals, and still Koya didn’t know what Matsumoto really thought of him. He was a serious man, rising early for his job, working and then coming home to devote all of his free time to Koya’s training. Even when Koya grew defiant, telling Matsumoto they were moving too quickly, that he had a hard enough time retaining what had already been taught, Matsumoto refused to quit. Matsumoto’s stubbornness was a match for Koya’s, but Matsumoto had never actually yelled at him.

But his disappointment was obvious when Koya forgot names, places, events. He wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t chastise him for forgetting, but his face was an open book. He had large, expressive eyes, and Koya now understood when Matsumoto was angry, was frustrated. When Koya begged for a break, to talk of something that wasn’t the name of some Mita Palace footman from when Sho was a child, Matsumoto’s upper lip would curl the slightest bit.

It was best when Ninomiya was around, or Nino as he preferred Koya to call him. Nino had none of Matsumoto’s stoicism, making constant jokes to ease the tension palpable in the air after a difficult few hours of lessons. It was Nino who could get his friend to ease off, to give Koya a break.

“Kamenashi, they fled Minato before the revolt. One of the only noble families to survive,” Koya remembered.

“Correct.”

“Originally a family of…merchants, but raised to noble status by…Sho’s grandfather.”

“My.”

He looked at Matsumoto, who had that frustrated look in his face again. “What?”

“Say ‘my grandfather.’ It’ll stick better. Take possession of it.”

Koya bit his lip. How many times had he been told this? It was so strange to say it. But to avoid his teacher’s wrath any further, he played along. “My grandfather raised them to noble status. At the time of the revolt, the Kamenashi family was headed by Seiichi…”

“Right.”

“He had…” Koya shut his eyes, thinking. “Four sons.”

“Their names?”

“Yuichiro…Koji…and the youngest was Yuya.”

Matsumoto leaned forward, covering the book Nino had managed to find for them. It was a guidebook to the royal and aristocratic families of Minato, a musty book that Nino had purchased from a rare bookseller once they’d decided to find someone to train for their plot. The book was mostly up to date, Matsumoto believed, though he’d had to fill in a few names from his own memory. “The third son?”

Koya’s head ached, trying to remember all these names. But it came to him in a flash. “Kazuya.”

Matsumoto sighed. “No.”

“I’m right.”

“It’s not Kazuya,” Matsumoto insisted. 

“It is, though,” Koya snapped.

Finally, Matsumoto’s seemingly endless well of patience had dried up. He shoved the book across the table. “Look at the family tree, Koya-san. It’s not Kazuya.”

Koya, feeling as though he might punch a wall if Matsumoto provoked him further, walked over and dropped to his knees, facing the man across the table. He examined the Kamenashi family tree, the family crest with the turtle against a blue backdrop. Four sons. Yuichiro, Koji, and Yuya…and then the two characters of the third son’s name. “It’s Kazuya.”

“It’s Kazunari,” Matsumoto said, raising his voice for the first time. “It’s the same characters as Nino’s first name. Of the four of them, this should be the easiest for you to remember! It’s Kazunari, look again.”

Koya shoved the book back across the table so hard that Matsumoto barely had enough time to move his teacup out of the way. “It’s the same characters, but you read the third Kamenashi son’s name as Kazuya. I’m right about this. The kid’s name was Kazuya. He was skinny as a reed!”

Matsumoto said nothing for a moment, pure shock registering on his face. Koya winced, his shoulder aching from the quick movement, lashing out and pushing the book. He’d gone almost a full month without his pain cream, and one of these days he was going to have to ask Nino to procure some. It was only making his lessons with Matsumoto all the more difficult.

He was breathing heavily, so furious he was about ready to pull on his boots and leave. “His name was Kazuya.”

Matsumoto’s voice was barely a whisper. “But I never told you that.” His fingers were shaking, and he let them drift over the book of families. “I taught you Kazunari.”

“Then you read it wrong,” Koya said, trying to calm himself. “It was your mistake.”

Matsumoto, who’d been so demanding, so insistent all this time, was stunned. “How do you know he was skinny?”

Koya shrugged. Matsumoto, despite his place among the servants, knew what several of the nobles of Minato had looked like. If he hadn’t seen them, Sakurai Sho had often described them to him. “You must have told me.” 

Matsumoto opened the book again, eyeing Koya with confusion. He looked at the Kamenashi family tree one last time. “It can be read both ways, you’re right.” He got to his feet. “But I never told you what they looked like.”

“Matsumoto-san?”

He headed for the kitchen. “We’ll take a break. I’ll make us something to eat. We’re both exhausted.”

“Matsumoto-san, you probably just forgot that you told me.” Because there it was, in Koya’s head. He knew with a certainty that the third son was Kazuya. He knew with a certainty that he had been a very thin boy, with a long face and a square jaw. Matsumoto had told him that, just as Matsumoto had told him so many other little things that would strengthen his case if Prince Masaki started quizzing him. 

Matsumoto was opening cupboards, making considerable noise as he set a pot on the stovetop, opening the icebox to search for something to cook.

“Matsumoto-san,” Koya mumbled, all his rage slipping away as he saw how shaken Matsumoto was. “You must have told me. You probably forgot.”

When he received no further reply, he lay back against the rug, staring up at the ceiling, knowing their lessons were at an end for the day.

**—**

Mita Shopping Arcade  
Keio, Workers’ Republic of Minato

It was his day off, and he needed to breathe. These last few weeks if he wasn’t in the truck, puttering through the narrow streets, he was cooped up in the apartment with Yoshimoto Koya. And if there was a face he was tired of seeing, it was the one belonging to Yoshimoto Koya. But there was no escape, at least not today. 

It was a Sunday morning, and there’d been snow the last several days. Jun had nearly crashed the truck a few times, skidding on ice as he made his deliveries. Now it had finally cleared, and Jun needed to be outside. Unfortunately, Nino had chosen that very same Sunday to meet with one of his contacts. Koyama-san was a pencil pusher at the Transportation Bureau who often supplied him with up-to-date stamps to use in his forgeries. Today Nino’s plan was to get Koyama to get him inside the deserted bureau offices, making up some lie or other about the Keio Bay ferries and the stamps required. He’d then somehow filch what he needed for the railway instead, leaving his source none the wiser to his real plan.

It all sounded dangerous, but Nino seemed to get off on things like that, using his wits and his charm to talk some mild-mannered civil servant into committing treason. Nino knew just the people to pick - the ones who weren’t married with small children, the ones who had just been passed up for a promotion by one of their juniors. The ones who were angry, malleable, with far less to lose by working with him. In exchange, Koyama-san was getting a Ninomiya special, a work permit for his sister, who’d had trouble finding employment after having a baby. She’d be assigned to a factory with humane hours within the week.

With Nino out for the day, it was left to Jun to keep an eye on their guest. Jun would have preferred to leave the man behind in the apartment or let him wander Keio on his own, but the closer their departure day came, the more anxious Nino was to not let him out of their sight. Half the furniture in the apartment was already sold and gone, including most of Jun’s cookware. They were surviving on the food remaining in their kitchen, mainly rice and the occasional salmon fillet Jun brought home from work. 

“We’ve made an investment in this person. I’m not letting you fuck this up because he’s sick of your lessons,” Nino whispered to him in the bedroom at night. Jun usually just turned over in his futon, enjoying its comforts. One of these days he was going to come home and find that Nino had sold all their bedding, and that was not going to be a happy day for him.

After almost a month of training, of every night spent learning the names of fifth cousins twice removed from the Minato Peerage Guidebook, Yoshimoto Koya was a walking encyclopedia of the fallen aristocracy. Though at first Jun had had to truly push him, Yoshimoto often surprised him with how much he’d picked up. For someone who’d spent the last fifteen years doing manual labor instead of reading treatises, he was sharp. Remarkably intelligent. And sometimes, what he knew was something he hadn’t been taught. At least not by Jun.

Jun had been especially wary of the man the last two weeks. It was clear that he wasn’t sneaking out to some library to hunt down old newspaper clippings. He was either with Nino or with him, twenty-four hours a day. As time went on, Yoshimoto often got that sheepish look on his face, that strange look in his eyes. “I don’t know, Matsumoto-san, you must have told me!” How many times had Jun heard that line now? It sent a shiver down his spine each and every time.

The first few times it had startled him, but that was all it had done. Jun worked hard. Jun worked long hours. Coming home from that, exhausted, only to force himself to stay awake, eyes burning and body hunched over books on etiquette…perhaps he really had told Yoshimoto these things. Between this and that cousin, this and that member of the kitchen staff, the twentieth reminder of Queen Kanako’s date of birth, maybe even Jun forgot what he had and hadn’t told him.

But it kept happening. Yoshimoto Koya knew things that an ordinary soldier and laborer wouldn’t. He’d even corrected Jun a few times. “No,” Yoshimoto would say, “I’m sorry, but you unfold the napkin on your lap this way during a formal banquet.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Jun would reply.

“Maybe I read it,” Yoshimoto said with a dismissive wave, and that was the only other explanation provided. 

With each day that passed, with each nightmare Jun woke him from, with each thing Yoshimoto Koya knew without Jun having to explain it, Jun started to wonder if he was going mad. “You said so yourself,” Nino reminded him. “You said you saw them. All of them. You saw them dead.”

“I thought I did,” Jun would whisper back, grateful for the darkness so Nino wouldn’t see the doubt in his face, the fear in his eyes. “I swear…”

“Ah, maybe our Yoshimo-chan is a ghost then,” Nino would tease, and Jun knew Nino didn’t care one way or another who Yoshimoto Koya really was.

But Jun did. Jun found that after a month of this, a month of sharing close quarters with the man who wore Sho’s face, he found that he cared way too much. He was letting Yoshimoto Koya get under his skin. He was giving in to what he’d probably wanted all along, what he’d spent years hoping for. That Sakurai Sho hadn’t died in that house. That somehow, against the odds, he’d survived. Yoshimoto Koya was the same age, looked just like Sho, and he had the most convenient amnesia imaginable, forgetting everything that had happened before he was eighteen. 

The signs had been there, all along. The nightmares, the headaches, the untaught knowledge, but Jun had been so certain that his own memories were correct, that they were real. What he had seen at Sakura House that day, he’d been carrying it for fifteen years. If Sho had somehow survived that, if he or any of the others had still been alive when Jun had turned his back and run away…

They were in the shopping arcade, breaths visible in the cold air as they walked past vegetable stalls and butcher shops. Yoshimoto walked slower than Jun did, but all this time he’d been too proud to tell him or Nino why it was that he limped and tried to hide it, why he carried himself so strangely at times. Nino refused to ask, saying only a soldier could ask another soldier what had happened to him. Jun knew it was far too late to ask, after a month of sharing meals with him. Yoshimoto even sequestered himself when bathing at the bath house, Nino told Jun, waiting for others to leave before entering the changing room. Whatever he was hiding, he intended to keep it that way. 

Jun didn’t slow down, if only because he knew it would piss Yoshimoto off. There was a stubborn streak in him a mile wide, and it had only grown more noticeable the longer he stayed. He was unfailingly polite, grateful for his meals and helping out in the apartment with more than his fair share of cleaning and chores. But sometimes he’d get a look in his eyes, something that reminded Jun so much of the looks that Sho saved for his tutor back then, for his mother when she’d wanted to press him about his marriage prospects. Yoshimoto would make that look and Jun would want to shake him, strike him, ask him how he’d forgotten who he was.

“You’re Sakurai Sho!” Jun would scream at him, if he could gather the courage. “Just admit it!” 

He was stuck with Yoshimoto for the day. They were surrounded by stalls full of treats at exhorbitant prices, his stomach growling at every pastry he saw after so many weeks on a boring diet. All the money he earned went into the coffee tin on the shelf in their kitchen, the “Chiba Fund,” as Nino called it. Yoshimoto had talked about his life at the boys’ home a lot during meal times lately, about how they relied on government money, about how he lived on rice and noodles and tinned vegetables for weeks. As they walked through the arcade, Yoshimoto’s breath coming in harsher spurts as he tired from hurrying after Jun, he wanted to just dig a few coins from his pocket and buy an overpriced roll or some daifuku.

Instead they just kept walking, Jun determined to make it in time. He had only told Yoshimoto that he was going for a walk, but he had something else to do that day. They hadn’t announced it in the newspaper, most likely to ensure that a very large crowd wouldn’t gather. But Ohno had learned of it through one of the men in the warehouse, whose brother worked on a demolition crew. Today was the day General Higashiyama’s government was going to wipe Mita Palace from the map of Keio, one final nail in the monarchy’s coffin.

For Jun, it simply meant that the place where he’d been born, the place where he’d grown up, was going to disappear, and he needed to see it for himself. As they worked their way out of the marketplace, heading northwest to the fenced perimeter of the palace, Yoshimoto didn’t seem to be working as hard to keep pace with him. But Jun didn’t care. Though there’d been no advertisements about it, there were hundreds of people ringing the fence, standing outside the chained front gate. According to the posted signs, trespassers would be shot without mercy. The building would be imploded within the hour, and the fence, about 500 meters from the building, was the closest anyone would be allowed to stand.

With most of the onlookers gathered to watch the once elegant front facade of Mita Palace tumble, Jun had other ideas. He said nothing to Yoshimoto, heading around, walking past soldiers with rifles, to the other side where the kitchens and servants’ quarters were somewhat visible through the barren trees. He found an empty place at one of the barricades, Yoshimoto coming to stand beside him in silence. Together they watched crews work, performing final checks on the dynamite they’d placed strategically around the site. All glass had been removed since he and Nino had found Yoshimoto that night, the palace probably stripped of anything that might shoot out and strike the crowd during the implosion.

As the time drew nearer, soldiers on horseback served as crowd control, forcing those who didn’t have a place at the front gate to fan out and surround the entire perimeter. As more people joined them, Jun found himself pressed closer to Yoshimoto, their arms touching as people bustled around them. To Jun’s other side, a pair of curious teenagers whispered to each other, giggling that the General’s men had probably not told the homeless people inside about the demolition. Jun held his tongue, wishing they’d just shut up.

The crews cleared out, heading for the rear gate. Announcements went out, a five minute warning to clear the premises. Jun heard the soldiers shouting for people to stay behind the barricades, to not hold children up on their shoulders in case of flying debris. A man pushed up behind Jun, squeezing in between him and the obnoxious teenagers. It pushed him closer to Yoshimoto, and he stiffened a little at the contact. It was a cold day, but with all the warm, bundled-up bodies around them, Jun felt a bit hot.

He took his final glances at the place that had been his home, a place where he’d experienced both highs and lows. He thought of the room he’d shared with his mother. He thought of the things he’d left behind, when he believed that the move to Sakura House was only temporary. Small things like the stuffed rabbit his mother had bought for him when he was a baby. Some of the books he’d been allowed to borrow from the royal library. He couldn’t help but incline his head, thinking of all the people who’d served at the palace, the men and women who’d worked beside him. Thanking them, missing them.

Somewhere there was a platform and someone shouting through a megaphone. A countdown started. When the countdown reached the final ten seconds, he looked beside him and saw Yoshimoto Koya with tears streaming down his face, his lower lip quivering. He was lost. He was somewhere else. He was _someone_ else. Impulsively, Jun reached out, wrapping his gloved fingers around Yoshimoto’s wrist. “Sho-kun,” he exhaled, barely able to speak when the dynamite blew. 

Several people in the crowd screamed in surprise. The countdown had been off by a few seconds. The charges went off in quick succession, one blast after another. With precision the stone crumbled, each wing of the once grand palace tumbling down. As soon as the walls fell, clouds of dust formed, shrouding the building as it met its end. At some point, perhaps during one of the dynamite blasts, Yoshimoto had pulled his arm away from Jun. 

Embarrassed, Jun looked away from him, trying to calm down. He held on to the barricade before him instead, waiting for the dust to clear, to look through the fence and past the trees to see that it was truly gone. When it finally cleared, when there were no walls to be seen, the voice came through the megaphone again, asking that people please leave the area so the first trucks could come in and start clearing the site. It had taken less than a minute for Jun’s childhood home to be blasted apart, to become rubble.

When there was finally breathing room up at the front of the barricades, as the crowd departed, Jun still couldn’t look at him. The haunted look in Yoshimoto’s face, he doubted he’d ever forget it. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to do. He pushed it all down, shoved it all away. 

“It’s cold out here,” Jun said, only loud enough so Yoshimoto heard him. “We could take the train back.”

Yoshimoto just nodded. 

They walked to the station in silence, Jun paying for two tokens. The underground train cars with their usual stink of burning petrol were nearly empty, but still Yoshimoto sat right beside him, staring straight ahead as the train clattered along to their stop. Jun imagined Nino saying something like “maybe Yoshimo-chan hates to see things blasted with dynamite,” just to be an asshole and ignore what was staring them right in the face.

That whether he knew it or not, whether he’d accept it or not, the person who’d woken up in that hospital fifteen years ago had not been named Yoshimoto Koya at all.

**—then—**

“You have to be quiet!”

“Sorry!”

He’s not supposed to come this way. He’s been told it’s beneath him, to come this way. Everyone is to come to him. One day this will all belong to him. Every brick, every tile. But for now, he doesn’t care if it’s beneath him. Sneaking out, it’s the best trick he’s learned.

But gosh, the other boy’s always so heavy on his feet. Aren’t people like him supposed to be quiet?

“Come on, I’ll show you,” he whispers, taking the younger boy by the hand. You don’t touch these people, you never touch these people. They exist to serve you. They’re not your friends.

They have to be even quieter once they get to the floor where his bedchamber is. There’s usually someone patrolling, but he knows the timing. He tugs the boy along, opening the door. They close it quickly. He made sure the curtains were closed before he snuck out, so nobody would see that he still had a few lights on. Bedtime was three hours ago, and he’s no dummy.

“Here,” he says, gesturing to the desk. “It’s over here.”

But when he turns, he sees the look on the other boy’s face. Even though he’s been in here before, once or twice, it still surprises him. He’s standing there with his mouth open like a dead fish. He can’t help laughing when the boy declares that “your bed’s huge!”

“Of course it is,” he answers. “Get over here, or I’ll call the guard and say you were trying to steal.”

The boy’s eyes widen, and he knows it’s a mean thing to say. He knows it’s a terrible thing to say. He always knows, but only after he says it. The threat is enough to make the boy hurry over to his side, his eyes already filling with tears. Gosh, he’s such a crybaby. He’s eight years old, why’s he still such a crybaby? 

“I’m just kidding,” he says, not apologizing. You don’t apologize to these people, you never apologize to these people. They exist to serve you. They’re not your friends. “Here, look. It just came today!”

Sensei had brought it for him, and he’d spent almost the entire day putting it together. He’d only just finished it after bedtime, sticking the thing on the front. The propeller, it’s called. The boy leans forward, squinting. He didn’t have time to grab his glasses because he didn’t want to wake up his mother. “What is it?”

“An aeroplane, don’t you know what an aeroplane is?”

The boy shakes his head, leaning so close that his nose is almost poking the tail of the model.

“They have them in Chiba, you know. You sit here,” he explains, pointing to the clear plastic bubble on the top that the kit instructions called a cockpit. “You sit here and that’s how you drive it. Sensei says you have to drive it really fast so it will lift off the ground.”

“No way,” the other boy says, doubtful.

“Sensei’s a lot smarter than you. You don’t know anything except how to scrub the floor, huh?”

He sees the boy’s hand turn into a fist. He can just tell the boy wants to smash the model, to fight back, but he never does. Instead he just cries silently.

“We don’t have aeroplanes here yet,” he continues, ignoring the pathetic baby sniffles beside him. “This here is the engine, and it costs a lot of money to make one. I think they only have a few of them in Chiba as it is. Papa says the train’s good enough for now, but he’s lying. I bet he wants a hundred, but he’d have to raise taxes and people don’t like that.”

He picks up the empty box for the model, holding it out. 

“Look at the box, you really think it’s not real?”

The boy takes the box in his shaking hands. “I don’t know.”

“Well if we can’t have one, then we’ll go see one sometime. We’ll go to Chiba.”

“It’s far,” the boy says.

“You think Sakura House is far,” he scoffs in reply. “We’ll see it together. An aeroplane. Then when you see it with your own eyes you’ll know that Sensei was right.”

“Okay.”

He holds out his pinky. “It’s a promise.”

The other boy, eyes red from crying, hooks their pinky fingers together. You don’t touch these people, you never touch these people. They exist to serve you. They’re not your friends. 

For the first time that night, the other boy smiles.


	4. Chapter 4

**—now—**

Takamatsu Residence Block 9  
Keio, Workers’ Republic of Minato

There was still a mirror in the bathroom, probably because it was bolted to the wall, as unmovable as the toilet or the washbasin. The weak, flickering bulb in here combined with the green tile walls always gave his skin a sickly color. He brought his fingertips to his face, spying the dark circles under his eyes. His nightmares had never been like this before. Almost every night now, and he’d sit awake, refusing to give in to sleep again for fear they might come back.

When Matsumoto-san woke him, it was with the lightest of shakes. “Yoshimoto, are you okay?” If the nightmare came late enough (or early enough, by Matsumoto’s schedule), he’d sometimes stay awake since he always had to leave for work long before sunrise. Sometimes he’d make them tea. Koya almost took comfort in the sight of him in the genkan now, taking out that stinking wool coat, pulling his hat down over his dark hair before heading out for the day.

When Ninomiya woke him, it was in his own way. He poked at Koya with his foot. “Yoshimo-chan. It’s alright, Yoshimo-chan, they can’t hurt you.” He’d poke with his foot again and sometimes he’d be too lazy to go back to the futon in his room, curling up at Koya’s back, snuggling like a puppy and dozing for a few hours. The added warmth sometimes made Koya cry.

It was Nino he’d asked for the pain cream. “Why didn’t you say something?” Nino had chastized him, ruffling his hair and pulling the Chiba Fund tin down from the shelf. They’d gone to the market that morning, searching until he found the familiar jar. Nino ignored Koya when he said he’d just need one, buying him three. Nino didn’t ask what he needed it for.

They were leaving tonight for Funabori, leaving Keio behind. He stared at himself in the mirror, at the haircut Nino had given him in the sitting room the day before. It no longer covered his ears. It was parted on the side, fell across his brow. From the neck up, he probably had quite the princely aura, bags under his eyes notwithstanding. He stepped a bit back from the mirror, staring at his scar.

He twisted the lid off the jar, dipping his fingers in the cream. With the fingers of his right hand he reached behind his left shoulder, wincing as he stretched to rub the cream into his skin. He was never quite able to hit the mark. The old exit wound was a bit further down, but so many of his muscles back there were stiff that every little bit helped. Satisfied that the cream was rubbed in, he repeated the motion on his chest. He watched himself in the mirror, fingertips rubbing in a circular motion over his scar. He’d gained weight since coming to Keio, living with Matsumoto and Ninomiya. Aside from the nasty scar, he looked healthier, stronger. Nino had started to tease him. “Your face is so round, you look half your age,” he said, poking Koya’s cheek.

For the last decade and a half, whenever he’d looked into a mirror, it was the face of Yoshimoto Koya that stared back. Because that was the name he’d woken up with. With his haircut, with the extra suit packed in his satchel (they were saving the nicer clothes for after the border crossing), he saw the face of Mimura Takuya, the name on his travel papers, on the fake identity card Nino had so carefully made for him. And in the last month and a half, he’d become Sakurai Sho, the Crown Prince of Minato.

He was Sakurai Sho in the way he carried himself. He was Sakurai Sho when Matsumoto came in the door, barking out the name of some Duke or Duchess so Koya could rattle off four generations of their family members with ease. And when he woke up sobbing, when the images started slipping away, of palaces and parties, of gunfire and screams, he wondered how much of it was fantasy and how much of it was real. How much of it was the story Matsumoto Jun had told him and how much of it was a truth he was struggling to cope with.

Who the hell was the man staring back at him, the man with the old bullet wound? He was Yoshimoto Koya. He was Mimura Takuya. He was Sakurai Sho. He was none of these men, he was nobody at all. 

The way Matsumoto looked at him had changed. At first, there’d been hostility. Then suspicion. Now Koya didn’t even know. Since Mita Palace had come crashing down, since that day Matsumoto had looked into his eyes with such surprise, had called him “Sho-kun” with something akin to hope in his voice, things had been awkward between them. Matsumoto didn’t push him any longer, and the lessons had largely stopped. 

Instead of spending the evenings quizzing him, Matsumoto instead wrote letters, asking for Koya’s advice as he wrote a letter to break their lease at Takamatsu Residence Block, as he wrote a resignation letter for his place of employment. And when Nino was around, Matsumoto sometimes just sat quietly, watching Koya when he probably thought he wouldn’t notice. As if he was waiting for Koya to just come out and admit it. 

That the person he’d been before Gyoranzaka, before Kamezuka Hospital, was Sakurai Sho.

Logically, Koya had to admit that it probably was the truth. He remembered things, more and more, things that Matsumoto wouldn’t have known. Snippets of private conversations, blurred faces. The languages he could read, the music he could play. The things a prince would have been taught. He woke once with a girl’s face burned so clearly into his memory that he’d begged Nino to find a photograph of the royal family (but not to tell Matsumoto about it). Most had been destroyed, portraits and photographs alike, but his bookseller friend came through once more. 

The girl he’d seen in his dream, there was no mistaking it. Princess Eriko. Matsumoto had never shown him a picture. Yoshimoto Koya had never seen this girl. But it was her, the very same girl. Not just Princess Eriko. His sister Eriko. _His sister_.

He’d unlocked it, hadn’t he? He had the key now, he’d turned it. But the door had yet to fully open. He was still not ready to look all the way inside, to lay claim to all of it. He stared at himself, clinging to the washbasin. Yoshimoto Koya. Mimura Takuya. Sakurai Sho. Nobody. Yoshimoto Koya. Mimura Takuya. Sakurai Sho. Nobody.

“Stop,” he whispered, shutting his eyes. “Stop.”

He pulled on the shirt that Nino had pressed for him, buttoning it with shaking fingers. Next a tie, new trousers, and a belt. He shoved the pain cream into his satchel with the others and came out of the bathroom, finding Nino and Matsumoto waiting for him, dressed similarly in suits and overcoats, with hats that were more for show than for warmth. They were to travel in second class accommodations. They lacked the finances and the amount of luggage a first class passenger would bring. And in third class, the guards were liable to check your papers again and again, looking for an excuse to swindle you.

The train that left Aoyama Station for Funabori every evening had twelve cars behind the locomotive. A dining car, smoking car, and three carriages for first class use only. First class accommodations included private washrooms and pull-down beds. For second class, there was another dining car and two second class carriages, which were made up of closed compartments of four seats each. Less privacy and you had to sleep upright in your seat, but Nino had observed boarding at Aoyama for the last two weeks straight. The train was never full, and he doubted that anyone would intrude on their compartment of three. Toward the rear of the train were two third class carriages and two baggage cars. Third class was nothing but rows of seats, first come first serve, no meals provided.

Nino took a look at the emptied out apartment, whistling. “I won’t miss this dump.” He’d been downright cheerful all day, though Koya suspected it was to keep morale high, that Nino was just as nervous as they were. In all his years making forgeries, he’d never really had to make one for himself.

Matsumoto adjusted the brim of his hat. “You’ve lived in worse places.”

“And soon, with Yoshimo-chan’s help, I’ll be living the good life. Me, a bottle of Chiba’s best shochu, a luxurious townhome in Maku-Harihongo, maybe a girlfriend or three,” Nino declared, bowing reverently. “My thanks in advance, Your Highness.”

“Technically, the address would be Your Majesty,” Matsumoto said quietly. He looked at Koya quickly before leaning down to hoist his suitcase.

“Only if they crown him!” Nino shot back, leaning over to wrap a friendly arm around Koya’s back. “Remember, you’re doing all of this for me and my future rotation of beautiful women. If that’s not motivating…”

Koya shoved him away, chuckling. Without Nino to lighten his mood, he doubted he’d have lasted this long. “I’ve been under your care, Ninomiya-san.” He looked over. “Matsumoto-san.”

“Mimura-san,” Matsumoto said pointedly, pulling his own identity card from the inside pocket of his coat. For their journey, he was traveling under the name Tokita Shuntaro and Nino was Wakui Takuro.

“It’s about time I get to play pretend,” Nino said happily, taking off his hat and using it to gesture to the door. “Tokita-san, Mimura-san. Shall we be on our way?”

“It would be a pleasure, Wakui-san,” Koya replied.

Carrying only a bag each, they locked up the apartment in the Takamatsu Residence Block, leaving the key behind in the landlord’s mailbox. They took the underground train a handful of stops, arriving at the bustling Aoyama Station and the sound of whistles and locomotives shortly after 6:00 PM. Boarding for the 9:00 PM train commenced at 7:00 PM so that first and second class passengers might settle in and have dinner before the train departed.

With the ease of a regular, Nino led them through the train station, the ceiling a massive arched structure that soared over their heads. The main hall was dominated by a giant clock at either end. It had been during his grandfather’s reign that the station was built, the clocks having kept time ever since, through every war, every uprising. Phrases like “his grandfather’s reign,” they were starting to feel almost natural to think. 

There were twenty-eight platforms with trains that departed for every major city in Minato, carrying troops or regular passengers. Freight lines also came through Aoyama, bringing in grain shipments and other foodstuffs from the countryside. Civilians and soldiers alike snaked through the station. The workday for those in offices or the civil service had just ended, hundreds of men and women milling through on their way to local trains to other parts of the city. 

Nino had their tickets in hand already. After they’d purchased Koya’s pain cream that morning, they’d come straight to Aoyama to buy them. Three second-class tickets had wiped out nearly sixty percent of the money they had saved up in the Chiba Fund. Nino hadn’t even batted an eye shelling out a stack of bills, listing the names of the passengers who’d be using the tickets.

They approached Platform 23, which served the eastern regions of Minato, including the 9:00 PM departure for Funabori. Past the security checkpoint, where soldiers were inspecting travel visas, identity cards, and luggage, Koya could see the carriages waiting. Though much of Keio and most of Minato was impoverished, struggling to feed themselves day to day, the trains were in good working order, the carriages freshly painted and ready for the journey. Koya thought of the budget for the Gyoranzaka Home for Boys, the monthly allotments dwindling, and found himself scowling at the irresponsible wealth of the train, of the luxuries provided to those in first class.

Nino lifted a hand just before they entered the checkpoint queue. “Wait. They’re turning people away.”

Instinctively, Koya stepped closer to Matsumoto, his satchel knocking against Matsumoto’s arm. He felt Matsumoto’s hand come up to rest on his shoulder, offering a quick, reassuring squeeze. Nino’s face changed, from ambivalent middle class traveler to shrewd opportunist. He approached a couple that came walking back from the platform, leaving Koya and Matsumoto behind to wait.

Koya watched as Nino spoke with them, an elderly man and woman in fairly nice clothes. At least they could confirm that they had arrived safely in the second class dress code. It was a few minutes before Nino wrapped up his conversation, shaking hands with the old man and tipping his hat to the wife. When he came back to them, his face was otherwise calm but there was a surprising anger in his eyes that Koya had never seen before. It was the face of a man who’d planned for every contingency other than what had just happened.

“What’s wrong?” Matsumoto asked, trying to keep calm as soldiers with rifles walked the station around them.

“General Higashiyama’s Minister of Labor is en route to Shirokanedai. That’s two stops before Funabori. Last minute trip apparently, off to investigate some mischief at a munitions factory there.” Koya could see Nino’s hand tightly gripping the handle of his suitcase, his knuckles white. “He’s bought up a full first class carriage for himself and his staffers.”

“How does that affect us?” Koya asked.

“They’re moving some of the first class passengers into second. That means second class is now full, with a bit of overflow.”

“We have tickets already. For tonight, and they’re not refundable,” Matsumoto hissed.

Nino nodded. “We do. And if we can pay an additional fee, they’ll guarantee us the second class compartment we’ve already paid for, or we’ll be allowed to travel standing room only in third class.”

“No, they can’t do that,” Matsumoto complained. “What kind of fee?”

When Nino said the amount, Koya wanted to scream. Money. In this country it always came down to money. “Then we travel in third class,” Koya said, trying not to panic.

“And have them come after us for more money? They’ll tack on an additional baggage fee, a toilet usage fee, a fucking standing in the aisle causing a nuisance fee,” Nino said, listing off all sorts of cash grabs the soldiers patrolling the train used. “We pay for second class, one flat fee, or we have every last yen stolen away in third and thank them for the privilege.”

“Wakui-san,” Matsumoto said, his voice almost menacing. “We don’t have the money for any of these fees. This wipes out the rest of our funds. We’ll never make it to Maku-Harihongo.”

Koya saw that Nino already had an answer, but there was a regretful look in his face. “We go tonight or we don’t go at all,” Nino said. “And I know where we can get the money to pay those assholes off.”

Matsumoto rolled his eyes, gesturing to the big clock. “Now? After 6:00 PM? The banks are closed, and if you haven’t noticed, we have nothing else of value besides our clothes. Unless Mimura-san’s hiding some gold teeth in his mouth that we haven’t seen.”

Nino took off his hat, looking at Matsumoto. “Jun-kun, I need you to listen to me. Don’t interrupt. Just listen.”

**—**

Ohno Fishmongers  
Keio, Workers’ Republic of Minato

For some reason, Ohno hadn’t been surprised when Jun had turned in his letter of resignation the other day. “I could tell,” Ohno had said. “I knew something was up.” In his letter, he’d apologized profusely for the sudden inconvenience he was causing, though he doubted his words would do much good. It was still a burdensome thing.

Compared to what he was doing now, though, Jun felt that his resignation letter was an incredible kindness.

The underground station nearest the warehouse was three stops south of Aoyama, and Jun had run all the way to the gate before slowing down, walking as quietly as he could. Nino had made a deal with the soldier at the checkpoint. While most of the bumped second class passengers couldn’t afford to pay the outrageous fee, Nino had asked for time to procure the funds. Since the train wasn’t leaving until 9:00, the soldier promised to hold a compartment for them until 8:00. 

For a price.

That last-minute deal alone had cost them the money they’d been saving for decent accommodations in Maku-Harihongo. Once they entered Chiba, paying for and boarding the train in Urayasu, they’d have enough to stay two nights on the outskirts of the capital, maybe three if they shared with strangers. If they couldn’t find a way to get an appointment with Prince Masaki or his staff those first few days, then they’d be living on the streets until they did.

But first they had to get out of Keio, and to do that, Jun had to betray someone who’d done so much for him already, without ever asking for anything in return. He had almost slugged Nino for merely suggesting such a thing, but Nino had looked him straight in the eye. “I can’t pick that many pockets in the next ninety minutes,” he’d said, acid in his tone. “It’s the only way.”

It was Yoshimoto who had been the deciding vote. “We’ll return it to him. We’ll return double what we take and more,” Yoshimoto had said, firm and confident in a way that surprised Jun. “I promise that we’ll return it. When I meet the Prince and succeed in convincing him, I’ll give from my share.”

It was easy for him to say, though. Yoshimoto didn’t know Ohno Satoshi. And who knew how difficult it might be to get funds back across the border, from Chiba to Keio? But it didn’t matter. It was Nino, Yoshimoto, and their non-refundable train tickets against Jun and the morals he thought he’d still had.

The scent of the nearby harbor stung his nostrils, a thick salty smell. The delivery truck was parked in its usual spot just outside the warehouse, the cab door unlocked. Nobody was stealing the noisy thing without getting caught. And nobody trying to steal it would think to feel around beneath the seat for the small leather pouch sewn into the upholstery. He gave it a tug, dislodging the spare warehouse key kept there. It was cold in his hand, and Jun knew this was his last chance to turn back.

Clutching the key in his fist, he used it to unlock the employee entrance as quietly as he could. Nobody would arrive until long after midnight, the fishermen usually going straight to their boats and returning only when they had the morning’s catch in tow. That meant the only person inside the warehouse was Ohno Satoshi in his small apartment upstairs behind his office. That Nino knew this, how perfect the timing was, how easily this plan had come to him, Jun knew that this had been an emergency back-up plan he’d come up with from the start. It wasn’t one he’d wanted to fall back on, because Nino knew how much Ohno meant to Jun, but now there was no other option, save for breaking into a bank vault.

The warehouse was dark, sparse moonlight streaming through the high windows that ringed the top of the building. He found his way to the stairs by memory, climbing the metal steps as quietly as he could. The seconds ticked by, and the higher he climbed, the more Jun wanted to turn and run. How could he be doing this? How could he even be doing this?

Before they’d had enough money to move into the Takamatsu Residence Block together, he and Nino had shared a small one-room place over a shoe repair shop. The lock constantly jammed, and their landlord refused to have it replaced. It was Nino, with his small hands and deft fingers, who’d taught Jun how to pick the lock for “emergency” purposes. Aside from opening the door to that apartment, Jun hadn’t used this skill since. Unlike Nino, who could probably pick a lock with one hand tied behind his back, Jun had never had an interest in breaking the law.

But here he was now, breaking the law and severing ties with a person who’d trusted him, all for his own selfish reasons. There was no coming back from this, and when Jun was living free and easy in Chiba, living off of the money Yoshimoto Koya was going to win for them, Ohno Satoshi would be here in Keio, knowing that Jun had cheated him. Because Ohno was trusting and Ohno was kind. And Ohno was smart enough to know that it had been the spare warehouse key from the delivery truck. It didn’t matter that they were going to send back everything they took. Jun doubted any amount of money would matter.

It took a few tries before he finally got the door to Ohno’s office open. By now Jun’s eyes had mostly adjusted to the low light, and he felt his way past Ohno’s desk. The safe was in the corner, and he finally allowed himself to pull Nino’s cigarette lighter from his pocket, flicking open the metal top and lighting up the dial.

He tried, in succession, the birthdays of Ohno himself, his father, mother, and sister. When those didn’t work, he moved on to other days that might have meaning for Ohno - the day he’d become captain of his own boat, the day he’d been discharged from the army. Jun was still crouched down, holding the lighter up and squinting at the dial, when the door opened behind him.

He didn’t say a word, simply shutting the lighter. He took a slow, measured breath when there was the quick little pop of electricity as Ohno turned on the overhead lamps.

“Here, let me do it.”

Jun didn’t know when he’d started crying, but it had been long before Ohno had even opened the door. He got to his feet, not bothering to wipe his eyes. “Satoshi…”

“It’s my parents’ wedding anniversary. You’d never have guessed it,” he said, and there was no anger in his voice, not even a hint of disappointment. He simply crouched down, turning the dial. “My dad set it years ago, and I never saw a reason to change it. You know me.”

“I do know you. I can explain.”

“I’d rather you didn’t, actually.” The combination entered correctly, the safe door opened and Ohno looked up at him. “How much do you need, Jun?”

He took a step back. “I can’t.”

“You got this far, come on. How much?” He’d never heard Ohno Satoshi sound so paternal before. He was only three years older than Jun, but at present, Jun was acting like a spoiled child.

He mumbled the amount, and Ohno’s only reaction was a slight flare of his nostrils. When he started digging through the safe for bundles of cash, Jun broke down, sinking to the floor next to a box of old invoices, pulling his knees up and hugging them against himself. In his life, he’d hated himself before. Hated himself for not being there, at Sakura House, when he’d been needed most. Hated himself for running away. Hated himself for surviving. But those feelings, they’d eased over time. Until now. Nino had forced him to make a terrible choice, and there was no going back.

He tried to apologize, his voice garbled from his childish, hiccuping sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Ohno ignored him, getting up to grab a pouch from one of his desk drawers. He then started filling it with the money from the safe, and Jun, his glasses speckled with his pathetic tears, realized that Ohno was giving him more than he’d asked for. “Stop, that’s too much.” He grabbed at his hair in frustration, yanking at the strands. “It’s too much!”

Ohno zipped up the pouch and closed the safe, getting to his feet. He’d probably been in bed for an hour, maybe a bit more. He’d always been such a sound sleeper, but it was probably for the best that Jun had been caught.

“Where we’re going, we’re going to get money. I’m going to return every bit of it to you.”

“I’m sure you will,” Ohno said quietly, holding the pouch out to him. “But you have to take it first, you know.”

Jun looked up from where he’d crumpled to the floor, a sad excuse for a friend. “I didn’t have any other choice.”

“I believe you,” Ohno said firmly. Jun thought he’d look more irritated. It was a lot of money. It was really a lot of money, and yet without asking why he’d just shoved it in a bag and handed it over.

“Satoshi…”

“I’m sure there’s someplace you have to be. Don’t be late.”

He stumbled ungracefully to his feet, taking his glasses off and wiping his eyes. He didn’t insult Ohno by offering him any more useless apologies, taking the pouch of money from his outstretched hand. “I didn’t want to do this.”

“Please leave,” Ohno said, finally letting Jun hear weariness in his tone. This amount of money, Ohno Fishmongers would survive without it. But Ohno, who hated math so much, would have to get truly creative with the ledgers now. Or maybe he’d just report a theft and see what happened. Either way, Jun would be gone. No consequences.

There was no need to be sneaky this time. Holding the pouch full of cash in hand, he tore out of Ohno’s office, racing down the stairs and out the warehouse door. He didn’t unzip it, he didn’t count it. He was almost hyperventilating when he boarded the train back to Aoyama, knowing he probably looked crazy in the eyes of his fellow passengers, who were just trying to get home after a long workday.

When he got back to Platform 23, he shoved the pouch against Nino’s chest, hard enough to send him staggering back a little. “Fuck you,” he said, looking him right in the eyes. He took Nino’s lighter from his pocket, yanking his hand hard and slapping it down into his palm. “Fuck you,” he repeated, not loud enough for the other passengers to hear, but loud enough for Nino to grasp the implications of it. What Nino had asked of him had just cost Jun one friendship. Though Jun was furious now and would be for some time, he couldn’t afford to lose Nino too.

Before Yoshimoto could intervene, not quite understanding, Nino simply bowed low, asking for forgiveness but not expecting to receive it any time soon. It was going to be a long trip to Funabori.

“Go clean yourself up,” Nino said as he straightened up, his voice almost devoid of its usual flippant tone. “We’ll board when you’re ready.”

**—then—**

17th Infantry Regiment, Army of General Kondo  
Outside Toranomon, Workers’ Republic of Minato

Of the half dozen challengers that have raised armies of their own, he doesn’t think General Kondo is going to win the day. Jun’s just a grunt, another body listed on the roster, but they’ve been dug in outside Toranomon for a month now. If Kondo really wants to take Keio, they ought to have left already.

But that’s fine by Jun. It’s the height of summer, and carrying his full pack, which probably weighs about as much as he does, is agony in the heat. Toranomon’s still loyal to Kitagawa, likely because it’s a town full of factories, organized laborers. Towns like Toranomon welcomed the Glorious Revolt with open arms, shed no tears when the royal family was murdered a year later, cheered when Kitagawa then crushed the Loyalist armies in a matter of months. 

But now that Kitagawa’s sitting in Keio getting fat, the cycle’s repeating itself. The men who got behind Kitagawa want a bigger slice for themselves. If General Kitagawa, who’d been born in a slum, could depose King Hiroki and then give the order to kill the man and his family, then why couldn’t someone else do it to him? The armies scattered across the plains and fields of Minato, their generals turn with a quickness that leaves most people reeling. Nobody is loyal to anyone. Each general (or even an upstart colonel) has their grand plan for saving Minato, and they’ll kill anyone who gets in their way. 

The Kingdom of Kansai, still shocked by the slaughter of Minato’s ruling family and elite, has refused to give aid. Minato’s years of aid both financial and physical during the Western War don’t matter now, not when the country’s up for grabs. Not when the man who sent Kansai assistance was riddled with bullets in the cellar of his summer estate two years back. Chiba and many other nations are watching from the sidelines as well, watching Minato destroy itself from the inside. All the countries that still have monarchies and don’t want to risk a repeat are starting to treat their citizens like human beings, not just chess pieces to be sent to the front lines or taxed to death.

Jun was promised meals and a living wage for signing away a few years of his life. By willingly signing on, having no other prospects and not being foolish enough to tell any army recruiter where he’d grown up, he doesn’t have the worst assignment in camp. His poor eyesight helps too. Jun is a courier, responsible for delivering messages from General Kondo’s chief of staff, Major General Takahashi, to the various regiments. He doesn’t need good eyes to carry the metal tubes they use, orders and directives rolled up tight and shoved inside. 

When they’re on the march, Jun isn’t always marching. He’s running. Back and forth down the line, again and again because Colonel So-and-so wants more clarification or Lieutenant Commander Whiny Face is pissed off that rations are getting cut again. It’s been three months since they’ve even been in battle, not that Jun’s eager for another one. Those are the days when his position may kill him. He’s not on the front lines, he’s not charging at the enemy, but on the days when Kondo feels like wasting ammunition and human life, in that order of importance, Jun’s running even faster to deliver the orders. Friendly fire nearly took his head off once, but he’d lived to run another day with only a graze to his ear.

He’s been part of a rear guard in a few skirmishes, if only because of deserters. Loyalty’s not so strong in Kondo’s army, not lately. He hasn’t killed anyone, and for that he feels fortunate. He’s been taught to assemble, load, and fire his rifle. He’s been taught that in close quarters it’s best to save the bullets and use his bayonet to gut someone. He hopes he never has to put these teachings into practice. And with the way things are going, he probably won’t have to.

He wasn’t yet eighteen when he signed on, but at that point it was still just one big army, Kitagawa’s, and nobody was checking. Once they all started to fracture, Jun found himself under General Kondo and since he was the fastest runner in his unit (on account of being skinny as hell with nothing to lose) he received his promotion to ferrying messages from Kondo’s second-in-command to all the other officers. It’s been more than a year of this, marching, fighting, gaining a town or two. Marching, fighting, losing it to someone else. Running, running, running, and getting nowhere.

There’s little for a courier to do when an army’s been camped for a month. The messages he carries now aren’t tactical plans or intel about the enemy’s camp. Half of it’s Takahashi seeing who’s still around, who has the best black market source in Toranomon since they’re running low on supplies across the board. The idle time is making the men stir crazy, and they wonder what will happen to them if Kitagawa holds on to power or if one of the other factions will take his place. What will that mean for the thousands that make up Kondo’s army?

Takahashi’s finished with Jun for the day, and he’s told to work the mess in the 17th because they’re still short handed. Of all his assignments, Jun likes this one the best. Sure, he’s had surly infantrymen spit in his face because there’s no meat on the tray again, sorry. He’s been caught in a food fight that was more needlessly wasteful than fun. But working the mess in the 17th means he can be close to Ohno-san, and that’s worth it.

Ohno Satoshi is a fishing boat captain, and he was initially snapped up for naval duty mere days after the Revolt. He was nineteen then and he’s twenty-two now. When Kitagawa murdered the Sakurai family and nobody stopped him, he funneled money into the army instead of the navy. No boats from Chiba or Kansai were going to storm into Keio Bay seeking vengeance. Instead the army’s ranks swelled to keep the peace, soldiers garrisoned inside and outside towns large and small as the Kingdom became the Republic. 

Ohno says that on his ship he was a Lieutenant Junior Grade on account of his experience at sea. He was in charge of the torpedo bays, but they never fired a shot. Moved to Kondo’s army, he’s all but won the lottery, put in charge of the mess hall for the 17th. Like Jun he knows how to fire a gun and use a bayonet, but the only things he stabs are food tins, prying them open and hoping for the best with what they’ve been able to procure. Ohno feeds the 17th, and ever since he lost half of his crew, part of a mass desertion that almost wiped the 17th from existence, Jun’s been tasked with helping him feed the ones who remain.

And it’s Ohno who helps Jun to find a reason to stay alive.

It’s easier, during the day when he has a job to do. Messages to carry and meals to serve. But at night when the camp goes to sleep, it’s hard. It’s really hard. Jun’s been alone for almost two years now, and he’s fairly certain he sleepwalked through most of that time. March, shit in a hole, run messages, sleep. March, shit in a hole, run messages, sleep. Thinking about Sakura House, thinking about Sho, fuck, thinking about his mother? For almost two years it was nothing but a low buzz in the back of his mind, an insect trapped in another room.

But now when there’s no fighting, when they aren’t going anywhere, it’s flooding in. He’s had bad dreams after battles, seeing men fall, but now that there’s no battles in the forefront of his mind, it’s just Sakura House. It’s Gunma Town in flames. It’s his mother putting her love for them ahead of her love for him and he doesn’t see the point of any of it. They’re gone. Every single one of them, gone. He never took the time to grieve, to do things the right way, and now it’s just Jun in his tent at night, listening to the snores of his bunkmate, staring up at the canvas knowing the world’s changed and there’s no way to go back. And there’s nothing to go back to. It eats away and it eats away and it eats away, but at least there’s Ohno and Jun isn’t devoured whole.

They were cleaning up one night, scrubbing pots and pans, and Ohno-san was never very talkative, but that night it had been his mother’s birthday. “I miss her. I miss her a whole lot.” And he’d gone on and on, talking more than Jun had ever heard him, listing things about his mother that he loved. The way she cooked his favorite foods, the way she yelled at him when his boat came in late with a catch, her scent and her smile. All the things waiting for him at home.

“What about you, Matsumoto-kun?” Ohno had asked.

For the first time in more than a year, someone had asked Jun about himself. He’d stood there, scrub brush in hand. “They killed my mother, and I wasn’t there when she died,” he’d said, saying it out loud for the first time. Putting the words together, speaking them. And then it was too much. “They killed my mother, and I wasn’t there when she died. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t _there_.”

Ohno had walked over. He’d taken the brush from his hand. He didn’t say he was sorry. He didn’t say anything. He was smaller than Jun, and it might have looked funny to anyone else, seeing him open his arms so Jun could have someone to hold onto, for the first time since he’d bid his mother farewell and stolen Yama from the stable because she asked him to.

After that first night, Ohno became his friend. The only one Jun really has in the whole world.

It’s easier now, since Ohno knows everything. Jun’s told Ohno enough to get himself killed. He’s told Ohno about his life at Mita Palace, his life alongside Sho and the Sakurai family. He’s told Ohno about leaving Keio behind for Sakura House, the long uncertain months there. He’s told Ohno about the plot to save them and how it all went so wrong. With all that Ohno knows and could tell someone, Jun might be accused of Loyalist sympathies and executed on the spot. 

But Ohno doesn’t tell a soul, and for that reason, Jun decides that even after all he’s lost, it’s better to stay alive. To live another day. His world’s turned upside down the last few years, but not everything is bad. There’s the 17th regiment’s mess tent and crappy tinned food. There’s the days and days outside Toranomon, staying put instead of riding into a bloody battle. There’s the sunrise and the sunset and the birds that fly over camp, unchanging. He gathers these reasons, each of them, and he writes them on scraps of paper, keeps them in his pillowcase. There’s Ohno’s smiles and quiet chuckles, and Jun decides that it’s enough.

**—now—**

Aboard the Great Eastern Express (Keio-Funabori)  
Near Shiba Forest, Workers’ Republic of Minato

By now he’d grown used to the rumbling of the train, the constant hum beneath his feet and the sounds of passengers in the corridor. Compartment 7 of their second class carriage was paid for at a high and unforgivable price, and Koya had never seen Matsumoto and Ninomiya go so long without speaking.

It had been easier the night before. Shortly after their departure, Nino had taken Koya to the dining car, where they’d stayed until it closed for the night. Koya had wanted to ask questions, to ask Nino if he and Matsumoto were going to talk through their problems, but Nino had dodged with his usual expert precision. Instead of hiding away in their compartment, Nino thought it was best to be out in the open, to be seen by others on the train, to make small talk with the serving staff in the dining car. “Easier to blend in if you act like you belong,” Nino had explained.

Guards went through every hour, looking for someone to slip up. But during their stay in the dining car, Nino spending some of their new, but unearned money on a three course meal and cocktails, the guards moved past them without so much as a travel visa check. Their dinner conversation revolved entirely around Nino’s parents, who ran an inn not far from Funabori. Once they “achieved success,” Nino said, alluding to their plans in Maku-Harihongo, he planned to send word to them so they might join him in Chiba. For the first time, Koya learned that Nino’s ambitions regarding money weren’t entirely self-serving. 

By the time the dining car closed and they made it back to their compartment, Matsumoto was already asleep, curled up on the seats to one side, his back to them.

“He’s going to sulk for a while,” was all Nino had to say about that before closing and locking their compartment door. Before Koya could protest, Nino set his coat down on the floor of the compartment and went to sleep, leaving the other cushioned seats for Koya’s use. Nino clearly felt guilty for what he’d made Matsumoto do, but he wasn’t yet ready to talk about it. 

Koya woke to find Nino already gone, opening his eyes to see the empty floor of their compartment and Matsumoto across from him staring out the window. “He’s gone for breakfast in the dining car,” Matsumoto said. His clothes were rumpled, his hair unkempt. For as long as he’d known him, Matsumoto was a neat, well-groomed person. Today he’d clearly skipped a washing up in the carriage washroom, his tie loosely knotted and the lightest peppering of stubble on his fair skin.

“Have you eaten?” Koya asked.

Matsumoto’s gaze didn’t leave the glass, his eyes barely focused as soaring cedars and fields of melting snow flew by outside. “Not hungry.”

“I’ll return soon,” Koya said, feeling awkward and embarrassed as he got up on his tiptoes to pull down his bag, digging around for his toiletries, a clean dress shirt, and underwear. Matsumoto said nothing as he let himself out of the compartment. He relieved himself, shaved and washed his face, cleaned his teeth. He applied his pain cream, wincing as the train jostled him around while he tried to rub it in. When he was finished, he stared at himself in the tiny mirror.

Mimura Takuya, second class passenger, stared back.

He returned to the compartment, seeing that Matsumoto had apparently not moved yet. He put his things back in his bag and departed again without speaking, finding Nino in the dining car. He was having breakfast with a well-dressed couple, laughing as they peeled some hard-boiled eggs.

Nino waved him over, and he knew he couldn’t hesitate. He sat down beside Nino and was quickly introduced to Matsuoka Masahiro, a jovial fellow with a noisy laugh. An obviously wealthy merchant from Funabori, the woman beside him was not his wife. Nino always seemed to find the most interesting people to gravitate to. Koya hoped that Nino didn’t have any plans to pick pockets or break into compartments while on board.

Nino deftly managed the conversation, making sure fresh coffee, eggs, and toast were brought over for Koya while also steering Matsuoka and his mistress away from asking any questions about their journey. Instead Koya barely said a thing while Nino got Matsuoka talking about his business, about Funabori and the current economic climate there compared to Keio. 

Matsuoka had been booked in first class and was one of those demoted to second class, which brought about a more hushed conversation, complaining about how everything had gone down at the last minute. Nino handled every aspect of the conversation with comfort and ease, pocketing Matsuoka’s business card and making plans to meet up for dinner and cigars if they could talk their way into the first class dining car. Without Nino’s social agility, Koya figured he’d be doomed. He didn’t have the stomach for lying or making small talk, although he’d certainly have to get better at it once he found his way to a meeting with Prince Masaki of Chiba.

Meal finished, Matsuoka escorted his lady friend from the car, waving goodbye. Nino visibly shrunk, his posture less controlled as staff cleared their plates. “I hate people like that. Rich fools with more money than common sense. I don’t know what’s worse, the thugs in the government or the members of the so-called Workers’ Republic who don’t work but collect money all the same,” Nino grumbled under his breath.

Koya was shocked. “But you spent the better part of an hour talking with him like the best of friends.”

Nino elbowed him. “It’s practice, for buttering up our future friend in Chiba. The subtle, nuanced art of ass kissing and pretending you give a shit. I’m happy to offer lessons.”

He frowned. While Nino was in here honing his strange skill set, Matsumoto was suffering in silence. “Do you intend to spend the entire journey hiding in here from Matsumoto-kun?”

Nino snatched a newspaper from one of the passing staff members, not in the mood to correct Koya for not using their aliases. “I’m not hiding. I’m giving him space. It’s how the two of us haven’t killed each other all these years.”

Koya was taken aback slightly by Nino’s admission. He realized that after all the time knowing them, he had yet to ask much about how they’d come to live together. “How long have you known each other?”

Nino opened the newspaper, eyes drifting across the page though Koya knew he was only doing it to behave as expected. “A decade. We met when I tried to pick his pocket.”

“What?” Koya exclaimed, and Nino shot him a dirty look. He lowered his voice. “Why?”

“He was in Aoyama Station, just discharged from the army…or more like the army discharged itself, once Kondo surrendered and Sanma was running Minato. Figured he’d gotten his final army wages as a severance, was coming to Keio to look for work and I gave it a try.”

“And?”

Nino had an amused little glimmer in his eyes. “And he broke my arm for it.” Nino held up a finger before Koya could express his shock noisily once more. “I got over it. Liked him from the start, Jun-kun. All the years I’d been in Keio, I never met anyone as stubborn as him. Nobody as decent either.”

“Why would a decent person live with…” Koya lowered his voice. “…someone like you?”

Nino’s smile changed his whole face, made him look years younger. “Whatever your stance is on whether or not I deserved to have my arm broken for petty theft, our Jun-kun felt miserable about it. He abhors violence. Life he’s had, I can’t blame him. To quote unquote ‘make it up’ to me, he came by the piece of shit hovel I was living in every day to bring me a hot meal while my arm was broken. By the time I was out of my sling, we were friends. He’s never had many, you know.”

Somehow, Koya knew that without Nino having to say it. Guilt hit Koya hard, his head aching. There was no reason for Yoshimoto Koya to feel that way, nor Mimura Takuya. Koya did his best to ignore it, the guilt that Sakurai Sho felt.

“He’s a good man,” Nino admitted. “I don’t deserve a friend like him. Just lucky, I suppose.”

“Will he be alright?”

Nino nodded. “In time, yes. But for now, it’s best that he doesn’t see my face.” Nino turned the next page of the newspaper, wiggling his fingers. “I’d rather not have any more broken bones in my lifetime.”

“I don’t think he’s had much to eat since we’ve gone. I’ll bring him something.”

“If he bites your head off, he doesn’t mean it,” Nino told him, resting a hand on Koya’s sleeve. “Especially since you’re…”

Koya had a hard time speaking. “Since I’m what?”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. It doesn’t suit you, Yoshimo-chan.”

He felt suddenly warm, uncomfortable and like Nino had just turned a spotlight on him. Koya was a mess. His brain, his memories, it was all a mess. And that was without factoring in Matsumoto Jun and what he’d obviously meant to Sakurai Sho. And what Sakurai Sho meant to him.

Koya got to his feet, leaving Nino to his newspapers and his intelligence gathering in the dining car. The dining car was soon changing over to lunch service, and Koya was able to talk one of the hostesses into giving him some sandwiches to take back to the compartment.

When he returned, Matsumoto was leaning back against the compartment wall, reading a book. When he looked up, large brown eyes meeting his own, Koya stumbled over his words. “Sand…sandwiches. You need to eat something.”

Matsumoto bent down the corner of the page he was reading, accepting the food with a murmured thank you. 

He sat across from him, nervous. If only Nino hadn’t said anything. “I…uh, I forgot to get you something to drink. What shall I get you?”

“You’ll be a prince soon,” Matsumoto said, nibbing the corner of the sandwich. “No need to go fetching something for a commoner.”

Koya looked down, trying to lose himself in the pinstripe pattern of his slacks. “Sorry.”

“Princes don’t apologize.”

At that, he couldn’t help looking up, the words hitting him like a slap to the face. “What did you just say?”

Matsumoto swallowed, wiping a few crumbs from his lap. “I said ‘princes don’t apologize.’ It’s something I heard quite often, growing up.”

“From Sakurai Sho?”

“From everyone else.” Matsumoto cocked his head. “He was mean sometimes, Sho-kun. They said it to excuse how he treated me.”

He leaned back against the seat, hearing the train continue steaming along. Lately he’d found it easy to imagine Matsumoto Jun, a younger version of him. He’d seen no pictures, but Koya sometimes dreamed of him, could easily picture a thin slip of a boy with crooked teeth and shining eyes. He could imagine strange jokes told poorly, clumsy hands on piano keys. Most of Matsumoto’s lessons were impersonal - staff members, facts about the palace and the Sakurai family. But there’d always been a thread in the background, something waiting to be tugged, explored more fully. Matsumoto spoke about himself very rarely, little beyond insinuating that he and Sakurai Sho had been very close.

But maybe he didn’t have to speak of it. Maybe it was something that didn’t have to be taught but simply remembered.

“If he was mean to you, why did you stay friends?”

Matsumoto chuckled softly, a warm sound that made Koya ache whenever he heard it. Probably because of its rarity. “He wasn’t always mean. And besides, he’d been told from birth that he would rule millions of people. That would give anyone a big head. I suppose I helped keep him grounded sometimes.”

“By calling him Sho-kun?”

There was a handsomeness to Matsumoto’s face that was difficult to ignore. The boyish way his hair fell across his brow. The curve of his mouth when he smiled, the intensity of feeling in his gaze that he never tried too hard to hide. Koya received a smile from Matsumoto then, genuine and true. It made his heart race in the best way, try as he did to pay no mind to it.

“Yeah, that was part of it. And since I was given the opportunity to study and learn when I could, he discovered that he wasn’t as smart as everyone told him he was. If the kitchen boy could do sums as well as he could, then what was the difference between a prince and a servant really?”

Koya couldn’t help smiling in return. “I bet he didn’t like when you proved that point to him.”

He could have sworn Matsumoto was blushing, adjusting in his seat so he could move his book out of the way. “I was Sho-kun’s friend, but he was also mine. He talked to me almost every day. He told me things he didn’t tell anyone else. He trusted me. The future king, and he always included me. In lessons, in games. He got me out of chores all the time, lying about needing a sparring partner for kendo practice or asking me to help him with his studies. I should have been nobody to him, just another servant. He broke the rules, what was expected of him. For me.”

Koya thought of the look Matsumoto had given him when the walls of Mita Palace had crumbled before them. He thought of how Matsumoto had touched him, his fingers wrapped tight around his wrist, the way he said “Sho-kun.” There was something that Koya was deliberately ignoring. It was there, inside the room that he still didn’t feel brave enough to enter. The room where he was Sakurai Sho and all the flashes and images from his dreams weren’t dreams at all but memories. Where everything was real, including Matsumoto Jun. Not just the man sitting before him with his five o’clock shadow and tired eyes, but also a teenage boy who sometimes spoke out of turn and cried so easily.

A person who’d been such a large part of his life, locked away the same as everything else that had happened to him before he’d woken up in Kamezuka Hospital.

“I’m sorry if I’m a poor substitute for him.”

Matsumoto’s eyes widened. “Koya-san…”

He cleared his throat. “I know you were reading, but it might be best to give me a refresher course. I want to do my best when we reach Chiba, especially after all the time you’ve spent on me. Would it be a bother?”

Koya saw how quickly Matsumoto could change. From the open, smiling man speaking of a childhood lost and back to the solemn instructor who betrayed little emotion at all. Matsumoto shifted back so smoothly, it made Koya feel even worse. “What needs refreshing most?”

“The timeline,” he said, hoping he didn’t look as sad as he suddenly felt. “After the Glorious Revolt, the bits of the timeline that only those in the palace would have known.”

Matsumoto simply nodded and began to talk, the words flowing from him with clinical detachment, as though he was reciting from a history book and not events he’d lived through. And Koya sat there, Mimura Takuya sat there, Sakurai Sho sat there, trying to absorb it all again and ignore how easily Matsumoto Jun was sneaking into his heart and taking up more space with every passing day.


	5. Chapter 5

Aboard the Great Eastern Express (Keio-Funabori)  
Near Shirokanedai, Workers’ Republic of Minato

“We’ve been here too long,” Nino declared, two days into their journey. The train had made one of its stops as usual, a fueling stop at one of the small mining towns. According to the timetable, they should have been in Shirokanedai three hours ago, but they’d been stopped for almost four. The conductor had visited their compartment with apologies an hour earlier, thanking them for their patience and offering them free snacks from the dining car.

Night was falling, the sky turning bruise blue as Jun looked out at the same scenery that had greeted them for the last several hours. Rolling hills, a muddy river winding off into the distance. They were still a good hundred, maybe a hundred and fifty miles from Funabori and its sister town Urayasu across the border. 

A few minutes passed and then Koya spoke up. “Maybe the train’s broken down and they’re waiting for someone to repair it.”

“They’d have announced that if it was the case,” Nino said, fidgeting in a way Jun recognized. Nino never liked to be without all the information available.

“Do you think they’re checking visas?” Jun asked, patting his pocket absent-mindedly. The longer they sat here, exposed, the easier it would be for a guard to scrutinize their visas and false identity cards.

Nino got to his feet. “I’ll find out.”

“They told us to stay put,” Jun said, raising an eyebrow. His anger toward Nino was more of a simmer than a boil now, but every time he opened his mouth, Jun wanted to shut it for him. It was hard to look at him and not remember how easily he’d asked Jun to betray Ohno, as if breaking into the man’s business and stealing from him was as easily accomplished as counting to ten or tying his shoe.

“The conductor’s my buddy now,” Nino said, ignoring Jun’s warning and opening the door of their compartment. He disappeared down the corridor, probably preparing to make up some bullshit lie about a clog in the washroom or ask if the dining car could fix him a stiff drink.

“He makes friends fast,” Koya noted, and Jun rolled his eyes.

Since they’d stopped, Koya-san had been very quiet. He’d been fairly quiet for most of their journey, though Jun had assumed it was because his fight with Nino had made the man uncomfortable. But now, with Koya sitting across from him, Jun could sense true fear radiating from him in waves. In Keio, he’d spent most of his time in the apartment. And before he’d come to Keio, he’d been sheltered, out in the country, away from secret police, away from soldiers walking the train with guns. Jun felt horrible for him. It was a lot for him to deal with, but they’d just told him to suck it up, to memorize people and dates and facts, to board the train and pretend he was someone else when he was already grappling with amnesia, with all he had to learn.

He leaned forward. “Need a drink?”

Koya was startled, and Jun felt guilty. After fifteen years and a quiet life, he and Nino had pulled Yoshimoto Koya into a dangerous world, all for the shot at some gold. And of course there was the undercurrent of every conversation Jun had with him, every word spoken and every word left unsaid. Every glance where Jun wondered who it was looking back at him — Yoshimoto Koya, the amnesiac groundskeeper or Sakurai Sho, whose life had been torn to pieces. Whose life Jun was trying to put back together for him, bit by bit and piece by shattered piece, whether he was ready and able to handle it or not.

When Koya didn’t respond, Jun got up, reaching for Nino’s suit jacket he’d left behind. As expected, he found Nino’s silver flask in an inside pocket. He was happy to find that, a gift from one of his criminal mentors, and not the pistol he’d always carried in Keio. It had broken Nino’s heart to sell the thing, but there was no way they’d have been able to sneak it onto the train or into Chiba with them.

He unscrewed the cap and took a sip. It burned going down, and he winced, wondering how Nino could drink this black market shit. He held it out to Koya just the same. Their fingers brushed briefly as Jun passed the flask, and he tried to ignore how it made him feel. Koya sniffed the flask and gave Jun a rather adorable, if irritated look.

“You can’t be serious. How does Nino still have a functioning liver?” Koya complained.

“Drink.”

Koya sighed and took a long sip of the stuff, coughing a little as he screwed the cap back on. “That’s horrible,” he said, still coughing.

“We’ll have better, in Chiba,” Jun reassured him, seeing a good-humored look of disbelief cross Koya’s face. At the very least, he wasn’t suffering in silence now.

A few minutes later, he heard commotion in the hall. He went to the compartment entrance, lifting one of the shades to the side of the door, the only privacy afforded to second class passengers. He saw people hurrying down the passageway, a few at first, wealthy-looking types in furs and dinner jackets. The noise increased, from worrying murmurs to panicky shouts. People were hurrying from the first class cars, going through second on their way to third. Jun yanked the shade back down in surprise, turning around.

“Something’s wrong.”

Koya was backed against the opposite wall, eyes wide, his whole body trembling. “What…what are they running from?”

The train car, parked along the fueling station platform, swayed a little as passengers came running through. Before Jun could move over, assure Koya that things were going to be okay (even if he didn’t necessarily believe it), Nino came hurrying in the door.

“Pack your things. Now.”

“What’s happening?” Jun asked, but Nino was already moving around him, grabbing him by the shoulders to slip past and make his way to the window. 

He pointed out into the growing darkness. “You can see it. It’s happening right now.”

Jun moved, watching over Nino’s shoulder, Koya beside him. “Who is that?”

Eight men were being marched away from the train, their hands behind their heads as they stumbled through the grass and mud. It was the guards from the train forcing them forward, guns drawn. “General Higashiyama’s Minister of Labor and his staff. The ones who bought up the first class car.”

When the first shot rang out, there were screams from one end of the train to the other. Koya clung to Jun’s arm after the first shot, then harder as each subsequent one broke the silence of the evening outside. Jun hurriedly pulled down the window shade. They didn’t need to see what happened next. Nino already had their bags down from the racks, was shoving everything into them. 

“Now. Come on, we have to go now!”

Jun turned, trying to detach Koya from his arm. One look into the man’s eyes, and Jun knew he was somewhere else. All it had taken was one gunshot. Nino was at the door, holding both his own suitcase and Koya’s satchel. “Jun! We have to go! They won’t leave witnesses!”

And then Nino left them, bags in hand and off into the corridor, hurrying toward third class. There was so much screaming, people banging against the glass as they tried to find a door in one of the carriages that would let them out. He heard glass breaking in one of the compartments not far from their own. But all he could do was look at Yoshimoto Koya, who was only upright because Jun was holding onto him. His breaths were coming in gasps, his eyes blinking and blinking but not seeing. 

“Koya-san,” Jun said, shaking him. “Koya-san, please, we can’t stay here.”

Jun tried to drag him, and that was when the poor man started to scream, agonizing screams that shook Jun to the core. And then they weren’t just screams, they were words. They were pleas. “I’m here!” came Sakurai Sho’s voice from Yoshimoto Koya’s throat. “I’m right here. Don’t shoot them. Please! Don’t shoot them, I’m right here!”

He was stunned, hearing the confusion and the hurt and the sheer agony in the other man’s voice. He would scream his throat raw at this point. Finally, as the door to their compartment was thrown wide, as people fled the train, as shots continued to ring out in the distance, Jun took Koya’s face in his hands.

Terrified, but all too familiar brown eyes looked back at him. “Jun?”

Jun took a breath, hands shaking as he spoke. “Look at me. Sho-kun, look at me.”

“They’re right on the other side, Jun,” Koya was muttering, tears in his eyes. “They’re right on the other side.”

He wasn’t sure what the man was talking about, but there was no time to think about it now. “Sho-kun. We have to go. Right now.”

“Jun, why are you here? You aren’t here when they’re on the other side. You’re not here…they’ll kill you, too. You can’t die too, you can’t!”

“I need you to trust me.” Jun took one hand away from Koya’s face, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I need you to be quiet and not let go. Can you hold my hand, Sho-kun? Just pretend we’re in Mita, okay?” Jun was having trouble holding back tears of his own. “Remember the servants’ passage? When we were little, you always held my hand.”

“I did,” he said, squeezing Jun’s hand in return. “You always got scared in the dark, like a baby.”

He couldn’t help smiling sadly at the memory. “We have to go. Don’t let go of me, and we’ll be okay.”

Jun didn’t stop to bring his own suitcase, leaving his hat and just grabbing his overcoat from the seat. He led Sakurai Sho by the hand, pulling him down the corridor. There was no sign of the conductor, of anyone who worked for the railway. By the time they got to the third class carriages, they’d been emptied out, suitcases and luggage strewn every which way. He didn’t let Sho go, assuring him over and over that they were going to be safe, that they were going to be okay. He was reassuring himself at the same time.

One of the doors in the third class carriage had been broken, the locks smashed as passengers had escaped, and Jun tugged Sho down the steps and onto the edge of the platform. There were still shots being fired, on the other side of the train, down in the fields where the Minister of Labor and his staff were falling. There was chaos on the platform, children screaming for their parents, people shoving and not knowing where to go in the dark. He heard a woman shout that someone had stolen her pearls right off her neck.

Jun ignored it all, tugging Sho along, moving in the direction most of the passengers weren’t. It was what Nino would do, and he was proven right. At the bottom of a stairwell, around the corner, he found Nino.

Jun stopped, barely able to see his friend in the dark. “They’re going to try and find all of us, and when they run out of bullets, they’ll hit us with their rifles,” Nino said, sounding too confident about the outcome. He pressed a hand to Jun’s shoulder. “Is he going to be able to walk?”

Since they’d left the second class compartment, Sho hadn’t said a word. After what had just happened, there was no way Jun was going to be able to think of the man as Yoshimoto Koya again.

“Yoshimo-chan?” Nino asked, patting Sho’s arm. “We’ve had a change of plans, I hope you don’t mind.”

Sho said nothing, and Jun couldn’t see his face. All he knew was that Sho was still holding his hand, squeezing so hard Jun thought his fingers might break any moment. “What do we do?” Jun asked instead. “Where do we go?”

“Everyone’s scattering. Everyone getting off the train, they’re going west. We go east.”

“Which way is that?” Jun asked.

Nino sighed. “The one way we don’t want to go.”

The direction the guards had taken the minister and his staff. It had all happened so quickly. Quickly and with barely a warning. 

Jun felt horrible letting go of Sho, but it was cold and he pulled on his coat, buttoning it quickly. He held out his hand, and Nino passed over Sho’s satchel for him to carry. Jun realized at that moment the extent of what he’d just done. “Nino, I left my bag on the train.” Nino carried half the money, and the other half had been split between him and Sho.

“It’s okay,” Nino said without complaint. “We can’t just stand around here. They’ll get their body count and go back to the train. From there, they’ll go west because they’ll assume we all fled that way. They’ll leave one, maybe two on the other side. We have the advantage.”

“They have rifles,” Jun pointed out.

“And we have the cover of darkness. Come on.”

Nino set off, moving back toward the train, walking along the tracks beside the first class cars. Without having to say anything, without having to take his hand again, Sho followed along. He said nothing, even as Jun knew that he would struggle to walk, that he was probably in enormous pain from his limp, from whatever part of him was hurt, but he didn’t complain. 

Past the train they continued following along the tracks, the sounds of gunfire and screams and panic gradually receding. With their train halted behind them, they doubted any others would be coming this way. Their shoes crunched against stone as they hurried along, over bridges and through the Minato countryside.

They moved without resting, barely speaking, moving in the direction of Shirokanedai. Chiba, a hundred miles to the east, never seemed so far away.

**—then—**

“Why aren’t you packing?” 

A motorcar is coming to take them to the station in half an hour. Their own car was taken, weeks ago. The decision came very suddenly, just that morning. The household is in chaos. Soldiers have been coming in and out all day. He watched them take furniture. He doesn’t know where they’re taking it.

His father, dressed in a fine kimono like he still matters, takes him by the shoulders, gives him a shake. “Go to your room and pack what you need. I won’t tell you again.”

He rolls his eyes, stomps off like he’s far younger than he actually is. Everything out of that man’s mouth is so infuriating. When he gets to his bedchamber, he’s not alone. Jun’s here, going through his armoire and taking out his clothes.

“I don’t want all that.”

Jun blinks at him. “Your mother asked me to help.”

“My mother doesn’t get it.”

Jun brings the pile of clothes over, drops them in a heap on the bed. He sits on the mattress and just stares at him. “What are you going to wear?”

“We have clothes there already,” he snits, grabbing the suitcase Jun’s been packing and slamming the top down. There’s more than enough crammed into it already, and the soldiers’ orders were perfectly clear. Take only what you can carry. His sister’s been crying all day because his mother made her give her little dogs away, the now jobless butler taking them home for his wife to care for.

Jun’s voice is small, even with all the noise in the halls, servants running to and fro trying to steal the candlesticks and the fine china. “This is bad, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he says angrily. “So bad I could scream.”

They’re being moved to Sakura House because it’s too strange for them to still be living in the palace. They’ve been like a zoo exhibit the last few weeks, generals and staffers coming in and assessing the place, taking photographs of the rooms. For weeks, he’s been writing, and he knows the letters are getting through because he’s already gotten replies. “I’ve spoken with my father,” his cousin has written back. “He won’t listen to me. I’ll keep trying, I promise.”

He’s written to his cousin because there’s no reason Eriko and Ryota need to go to Sakura House. He’s written to his cousin, begging for his aunt and uncle to let Eriko and Ryota go to Keikarou Palace to stay with them. They’re young, his sister and brother. They have no idea how bad it is in Minato. It will be safer for them, staying with family, getting out of the country, than being shipped off to the summer house and out of the way. He’s asked if they’ll take his mother as well. Queen Yuko is her sister, surely she isn’t so heartless to turn away her own sister.

When his father discovered the letters he’d sent, he’d taken away his ink and pen and paper. “You put us all in danger with your foolishness. We are already on precarious ground!”

“I’m trying to keep them safe!” he yelled back. “What are you even doing to help them?”

For the first time in his life, his father slapped him across the face. They’ve barely spoken since.

Sakura House is on the other side of the mountain range, the quiet country estate with the vast fields of flowers, with the pond where he learned how to swim. Most of the staff there have been dismissed, but he’s been told that some have stayed around anyway, even without pay. They’ve sent word along that Yama and the family’s other horses are still being cared for. General Kitagawa hasn’t taken them away yet.

He looks over. Jun’s still watching him. “You don’t have to come,” he says.

Jun shakes his head. “Your mother asked mine to come with her. They’re letting her have one maid.”

“But Jun, you don’t have to…”

“I’m coming with you,” he says, and despite the fear in his eyes, his determination is unshakeable. “You always say it’s boring there so at least you’ll have me.” Jun takes a breath. “The soldiers even said it was okay. One maid, one cook, and one valet can come with from Mita. Nobody else wanted the valet job, so I’ve been promoted.”

He sighs, sitting beside Jun on the bed. They both lie back, staring at the canopy of his bed. Jun doesn’t shy away when he twines their fingers together. He hates how much he wants Jun to come with them. He remembers a time when he’d have gone crazy at the thought of Jun leaving him, but those circumstances were different. Now he should want Jun far, far away. He should want Jun to take his mother and sister and brother and escort them to Keikarou Palace. Then Jun would be safe too. 

But Sakurai Sho’s always been selfish.

“Once we’re there, maybe they’ll just forget about us,” he says, the lies bitter on his tongue.

“I’m sure Chiba will change their mind and let you all go there. If Minato doesn’t want a king anymore, they should just let you all go.”

He shuts his eyes. He can’t bear to tell Jun that it doesn’t work that way.

There’s a knock at the door. “Your Highness, it’s time to leave.”

He sits up again, Jun with him. He refuses to cry, even when Jun’s arms wrap around him, holding tight. He’s responsible for him now, too, isn’t he? 

“Go get your own stuff,” he says. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

**—now—**

Eastern Foothills  
Near Shirokanedai, Workers’ Republic of Minato

All he knew was how to put one foot in front of the other. He’d tripped, nearly fallen onto the train tracks in the dark, but again and again, Jun or Nino helped him to keep moving.

Shortly after dawn, they needed rest. They needed time to regroup, to think. Given what had happened on the train, given that the Minister of Labor had been headed to Shirokanedai, Nino decided it was too risky to enter the town. They’d left the train tracks an hour earlier heading north, up and around Shirokanedai.

In a week or two it would be time to plant, and they passed a few farms with signs of life, workers already in the fields attending to the soil. It almost felt like his foot was about to fall off, but then they came to a farm with signs posted along the fence. Sold. The two-story farmhouse was boarded up, but they went around back. Jun set down the satchel he’d carried without complaint all night, slipping his fingers between the boards on the rear door and tugging.

He stood there at Nino’s side, feeling empty, numb from the cold air they’d walked through for hours, as Jun pried the boards free. Eventually Nino helped him. There was a musty smell inside, old food rotting in the cupboards. A meal was still on the table in the kitchen, half devoured by rats weeks earlier. The family who lived here had been chased out with alarming quickness.

Nino pushed open one of the doors to check inside for rats and vermin, returning and gently putting his hand on his back. “Here, Yoshimo-chan. You can stay down here so you don’t have to climb the stairs.” He pushed the satchel into his arms. “You have enough cream?”

He nodded. 

Nino offered him a weak smile. “Good, good. I’m glad. Get some rest. If it stays quiet, we’ll wait it out here tonight. Start fresh tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he said, his own voice sounding foreign. 

Jun, because he wasn’t “Matsumoto-san” anymore, not now, not ever again…Jun stood in the doorway for a few moments, watching him before heading after Nino. They both headed upstairs, their steps heavy. He stood there in the middle of the room, holding his bag while he listened to their noise on the second floor. Nino complaining when there was no running water in the bathroom, Jun arguing that he was taller and that somehow entitled him to the room with the biggest bed.

Their bickering was almost soothing, and he wondered if they were being deliberately noisy to put him at ease. Finally he shut the door, taking a look around. The room was covered in dust, but once he tore the quilt off of the bed, it took a lot of dust with it. Beneath it the sheets and mattress smelled like old sweat, but it was cleaner and more comfortable than sleeping outside on the ground, he supposed.

He stripped out of his clothes, barely able to keep his eyes open as he hurriedly rubbed cream onto his chest, rubbing some into his maimed foot. He stared for a few moments at the empty spaces on his foot, where toes stopped and the gaps began. This part…this was still unclear. His mind was flooding, again and again. The train had woken him from his slumber, memories steadily unlocking with each shot that had been fired. He’d seen them again. He’d seen them. He’d been there, at Sakura House. Again.

But whatever happened between Sakura House and the empty spaces on his foot, that was still a blur.

He lay down, pulling the blankets over himself. Shivering, but not from cold. At some point in the night, walking along the train tracks, Yoshimoto Koya had died. Mimura Takuya, he’d probably died back on the train, along with Tokita Shuntaro and Wakui Takuro. The false identities, they were still carrying them in their pockets, but they were all but useless now. Those names were on the train’s passenger manifest, and those names would be hunted down. Nino had said that they wouldn’t want to leave witnesses.

He could no longer pretend. He could no longer shove it away. He could no longer indulge in the fantasy that was Yoshimoto Koya. There’d been a real one once, a real Yoshimoto, he suspected, but his name had been stolen just like the names Nino had taken for their identity cards. Sakurai Sho had buried himself, forgotten himself, and even though a false name had probably been given to him deliberately, he’d managed to wear it like the truth all these years. A shield, a barrier he could put up to block reality. He couldn’t be Sakurai Sho because he was Yoshimoto Koya.

He knew too much now. He remembered too much now.

Somehow, despite everything, he slept. When he woke, it was dark again. He pulled some thick wool socks from his bag, put them on his feet and emerged from his little cocoon. Nino and Jun looked up from the sofa in the farmhouse’s living room. They’d managed to find some candles, had them lit and scattered around the room because nobody was coming back for them, so why not use them all?

“There’s a few cans of green beans and peas,” Nino said. He and Jun were eating them out of some ceramic bowls. “On the stove if you want to warm them up.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Anything else?”

“Eat your vegetables,” Nino ordered, and he allowed himself a quick chuckle.

Once he’d helped himself to the only bounty the farmhouse pantry had in store for them, he joined them. The pair of them looked exhausted, weary and uncertain in a way they hadn’t before. Before, there’d always been a plan, there’d always been a next step. But Chiba was far, and Minato was in trouble yet again.

“Jun-kun and I did a bit of recon before the sun set. There’s the next farm over,” Nino said while he ate. “They’ve got a truck.”

“No,” he said firmly, and Jun and Nino exchanged a look.

“We haven’t even told you we’re stealing it yet,” Nino complained, laughing. “Borrowing is more accurate though.”

“It’s not borrowing if we have no intention of returning it,” he replied. He’d already come so far on the stolen money from Ohno-san, from Nino’s deception in forging their false papers. Sakurai Sho would show up in Chiba to announce that he was alive. But was it worth stealing from his own people to get there? Why was his survival more important than the survival of the people being left behind in Minato?

Jun leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You want to walk a hundred miles to the border?”

He looked down at the mostly flavorless peas in his bowl. “We take that truck, they can’t get their goods to market. We take that truck, and they can’t make a living. You can live with that?”

“We’ll take it til the petrol runs out, and we’ll leave it in the middle of the road,” Nino said. “They’ll be able to come claim it.” Even Nino with his talented means of persuasion couldn’t sell that line of bullshit. The truck would be claimed by the first person who came up to it with a full petrol can.

“We could ask them to drive us,” he offered, and Jun and Nino sighed in unison. Their fight had apparently been postponed for the time being so that all three of them might survive.

“How about this?” Jun proposed. “We leave half the money behind for them.”

“Half?” Nino cried, setting his bowl down on the coffee table with a noisy thump. “Half? Jun-kun, no…”

But Jun looked at him only. “How about it? We take the truck, but we do what we can to make it up to them.”

Jun knew. He wasn’t sure how long Jun had known, but whatever happened on the train had confirmed it for him. Yoshimoto Koya, nobody really knew how far he’d go to achieve his ends. But Sakurai Sho, the Crown Prince of Minato, the person Jun had grown up with…Sakurai Sho wouldn’t screw over his own people. Even when the people rejected the Sakurai family, Sakurai Sho still felt responsible for them.

_He_ felt responsible for them.

“Do we leave tonight?”

Nino gave up, shaking his head. “No, we’ll stay here another night. Tomorrow is Saturday and they’ll be in the fields, but they’ll sleep in for Sunday morning. We take the truck during the night tomorrow, and we’ll be halfway to the border by the time they wake up.”

“And we leave money,” he said.

Nino agreed. “We leave money.”

They did rock, paper, scissors for clean-up duty. Even in an abandoned house, they refused to add to the existing mess. Nino lost, rinsing the bowls and pots with water he and Jun had gotten from a well around back during the day. Though the pipes in the house weren’t functioning, they could still wash up a little. He held a lantern from the house, following Jun back out to the well. Back and forth they went, carrying in buckets and pots and setting them to boil on the stove. Nino then carried the hot water to the tub upstairs. 

It took almost an hour, but they had enough to get clean. Another round of rock, paper, scissors and Jun won first dibs on the hot water. Nino then spent time wandering from room to room of the farmhouse, searching for something they could take with as they continued their journey. Old coins and jewelry they could barter. He even found some spare clothes that weren’t moth eaten for Jun, who’d left everything on the train but the clothes he’d already had on.

When Jun was done, it was Nino’s turn. And then finally it was his. They’d found some rags to wipe themselves down, and he scrubbed himself as best he could before getting in the tub. It was more lukewarm than hot by now, but he didn’t care, relaxing as best he could. They’d been fortunate, finding this farmhouse. He still didn’t like the thought of stealing the neighbors’ truck, but the cost of this journey had already been very high. To give up now would be irresponsible, especially since they owed Ohno-san so much for the help he’d provided. Since they’d found the farmhouse, had taken from it what they needed to get through another day.

The bedroom Nino had claimed had its door closed when he padded down the hallway, but Jun’s was empty. Gently, he eased himself down the stairs, his feet still sore from their long walk from the train. Without asking, he sat down on the sofa beside Jun, who was curled up with a book.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Jun murmured, turning the page.

“Shouldn’t I?”

Jun turned, looking up over the frames of his glasses. “I wouldn’t force it. Take your time.”

He sat back, grabbing a cushion and hugging it against himself. “I don’t remember it all yet. But I think the train, I…I think what happened there…”

“It brought it back.”

He nodded. The doctors said that if his memories came back at all, they’d come back in a sudden rush. Unfortunately, the timing hadn’t been ideal. “Most of it. It’s a lot. It’s just…a lot.”

Jun closed the book, setting it in his lap. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Not really. Not just yet.”

“I understand.”

“But I will, in time,” he said quietly. He lifted his arm, let it rest on the back of the sofa. His hand was inches away from Jun’s shoulder. “I can’t imagine this is easy for you either.”

Jun slipped his glasses off, holding them in his hand. “Yes and no. Sho-kun…” He paused, looking afraid. “I can say it now, can’t I?”

He nodded.

“Sho-kun, I’ve spent half my life thinking you were dead. Sitting here right now, with you…knowing it’s really you, I can’t even describe what I’m feeling.” Jun cocked his head a little, smiling shyly. “It’s strange, but it’s a good kind of strange.”

“I can’t believe I forgot you,” he whispered.

“You didn’t forget me. Not on purpose,” Jun assured him. “What happened…what happened that night, I wish I could have blocked it too.” 

They were silent for a while, Jun on his side and Sho on his. He wasn’t a firm believer in fate or that things were destined to happen. He refused to think that what had happened to his family was destiny, an unavoidable loss. But what if he hadn’t taken the path set for him? What if he’d declined Headmaster Joshima’s offer for the passage to Keio? What if he hadn’t woken up that night at Mita Palace, bringing Jun and Nino into his life? He’d still be Yoshimoto Koya, who might have never learned who he truly was.

“It’s funny,” he said, looking to Jun and smiling. “The whole point of this venture was based on a lie. We were going to lie to him. To Masaki. For money. Just because we could.”

Jun said nothing, a gentle smile offered in return.

“I don’t feel so bad now, I guess,” he admitted. “He’s my cousin, and I’ll be telling him the truth. And I suppose Nino won’t mind because whether I’m lying or not, he wins.”

Jun got to his feet. “He’s the one who wanted to go find you. When we heard you that night at the palace, he was the one who said we ought to check in on the screaming guy.”

“This doesn’t mean he gets a bigger share of the reward,” Sho teased, and Jun laughed, a sound that had always felt strangely familiar to Yoshimoto Koya. But to Sakurai Sho, Matsumoto Jun’s laughter was the sound of home, the sound of a different time. He was grateful, so profoundly grateful, that they’d somehow found their way back to each other. He wasn’t going to forget him, or “block” him, ever again.

“Go to sleep, Sho-kun. We’re not in Chiba yet.”

With that Jun headed for the stairs, fluttering his fingers as a good night as he ascended up and out of sight. Sho stayed there, sitting in the candle-lit living room until some of them went out of their own volition. He blew out the rest with the oddest joy in his heart. Sakurai Sho, he’d lost so much. But he hadn’t lost everything, and that was a reason to keep living. To keep moving forward.

**—**

Eastern Foothills  
Near Shibaura, Workers’ Republic of Minato

Sho had wanted to leave more money, but Nino had managed to win the argument. He’d found a jewelry box in the farmhouse the night before, an astonishing treasure left behind. Pearl earrings, a ruby necklace with only a few missing that could be sold piece by piece. They left a stack of cash inside the jewelry box, Sho hurrying it over to the porch of the house while Nino got into the truck, putting it in neutral so they could push it a bit further away from the barn. Turning the truck on would have easily woken the cows, which would have woken the farmer, losing them the head start they needed. The trusting farmer had even left the key in the ignition, saving them even more time.

They pushed it until the barn was mostly out of sight, whispering commands back and forth. Then they’d clambered inside the truck cab, Jun at the wheel, Nino and an old map in the middle, and Sho by the window. They’d already made it thirty miles in about four hours, a remarkable feat given how crappy the truck was. It sputtered worse than the truck Jun had driven all those years for Ohno, and they hadn’t pushed it to its limits on account of the late hour. Out here in farm country, sound could travel a long way. Not that the thing could move very fast anyhow. It was built for hauling, not for quickness.

Nino had Sho holding his cigarette lighter and together the two of them were trying to figure out the map. It had been a lot easier back at the farmhouse where they’d found it, inside a battered atlas and guidebook to the Chiba borderlands. The thing was severely out of date, and they’d already had to double back when a road on the map had suddenly stopped, most likely destroyed during some general’s campaign to delay his enemy.

There were main roads between towns, some of them even paved, but those were liable to have checkpoints, guards, and guns. And who knew if anyone out there was looking for three men traveling together from Keio. Instead they had to stick to backroads, winding dirt roads that bumped and jostled them the whole way. They heard thunder behind them, and the journey east was becoming a race against the storm clouds, a spring thunderstorm that might turn the already treacherous roads into a muddy mess. Jun wasn’t quite in the mood to get out and push if they got stuck.

Jun was far happier later on when the storm system veered south. Soon after that dawn broke, and they came to a crossroads. Nearby was a bridge over the Shibaura River, just as the map had said. Aside from the spinal readjustment the trip in the truck had provided, they’d made it halfway unscathed. Fifty miles closer than they’d been the day before.

They pulled over to piss and switch drivers. Nino opted to have a cigarette for breakfast, stretching as he walked for a short while down the gravel road. Jun waited with the truck, digging through one of the bags they’d taken from the farmhouse. A tin of kidney beans would have to suffice for now, until they were over the border and could have a proper meal without fear of arrest or execution. He held the tin out and Sho took some, sighing at the considerable downgrade from the second class dining car. Being royal, Sho had always had expensive tastes, Jun thought, smiling at the memory. He watched Sho chew on the uncooked beans with an ugly scowl on his face.

They had enough petrol, Jun estimated, to get them halfway to the small Chiba border town of Hanamigawa. Passing through Funabori and Urayasu seemed too risky now. The checkpoints would be swarming with soldiers, and Hanamigawa was well-known among people of Nino’s profession as an easier point of entry to Chiba. The town was the safest river crossing in ten miles whether you walked across the bridge or tried to swim for it. With their money and baggage, they aimed for the Hanamigawa Bridge.

He watched Nino wander off into the woods to relieve himself, and he turned aside, stretching. When he turned back, glancing through the truck cab and through the window to the other side, he saw Sho leaning against the truck with such a grimace of pain on his face that Jun feared he was having some sort of waking nightmare. He hurried around, setting a hand on his shoulder.

“Sho-kun, are you…”

Sho pulled back from the contact with a soft moan. “Don’t. Please.”

He held his hands up, confused. “You looked…you looked hurt. I’m just trying to help.”

Sho shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Sho finally met his eyes, exasperated. “It’s been a bumpy day.”

“Not much I can do about that.”

“I know!” Sho snapped at him before pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t mean to be short with you.”

Jun rolled his eyes. “But you’re in pain and you’re going to lash out whether I like it or not. Look, Nino told me he bought you some salve or something. It’s your shoulder right? Do you still have some with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why aren’t you using it?”

Sho looked the other way.

“You’re embarrassed,” Jun said bluntly. It was a quality that had always annoyed Sho, and now all these years later, he knew it hadn’t changed. Jun pointed to the trees. “Then go put some on. If it helps you, then put it on. Don’t be stupid. If you need us to turn around and not watch, we will.”

Sho opened the truck door in a huff, digging around in his bag for a small metal jar. He stormed off with it, and Jun just laughed. The Crown Prince of Minato wasn’t supposed to show weakness. At least that was what Sho had been told his entire childhood. He tended to save those moments of weakness for Jun, whining about piano practice, about a difficult lesson, about the way his teething baby brother had used the soft flesh of his forearm to ease his suffering when his molars were growing in.

Nino returned with a bounce to his step. “Yoshimo-chan putting on his happy cream?”

“It’s been implied that we’re not to intrude.” Jun couldn’t help asking. “What’s wrong with him, really? Something with his shoulder?”

Nino shook his head. “I never asked him. It’s not my business.”

“He shouldn’t have to hide it from us. If he’s in pain and he has something to relieve that pain, then he should use it.”

“Jun-kun, let the poor guy have at least one secret from you. We’re not in the palace now, and he doesn’t need you to be his sounding board for every little thing…” Nino offered a lazy smile. “Oh, were you hoping things would go right back to how they were? To Crown Prince Sho and his dutiful servant boy hanging on his every word?”

“Shut up,” Jun grumbled, looking away even though it only further proved Nino’s point. “It wasn’t like that.”

Except that it was. It had been that way entirely. And nothing had made Jun happier than being the person Sho came to. That feeling of being needed, even if it had been one-sided for so long, it had all been worth it. It was a feeling Jun hadn’t experienced in all these years. He was friends with Nino, but Nino didn’t exactly need him. At work, he’d been part of the crew, but he could be replaced. The only person who had ever needed him, who had ever needed Jun specifically, was Sho.

“Someone’s coming. Multiple someones,” Nino remarked sharply, opening the door of the truck. It was then that Jun heard it too, the rumbling of engines in the distance. Around the curve, maybe a mile off down the flat road came a handful of trucks. From this distance, they had no way of knowing if it was friendly or not. Nino was already putting the truck in gear.

“Go around, take that last route we were on…232, 233…”

“223,” Nino said, moving swiftly from teasing jackass to focused getaway driver in seconds. “I’ll do a loop.”

“We’ll stay in the woods until we see you come back,” Jun said, already jogging toward the trees. “Be careful!”

“You be careful!” Nino said, thumping the side of the truck with his fist before pulling away and back onto the gravel road. 

Jun stayed low, cutting through the grass, his shoes squelching in a mud puddle as he headed for the safety of the trees. “Sho-kun!” he called out as loud as he dared. “Sho-kun, someone’s coming down the road, no idea if it’s army or not. Nino’s going to circle around until it’s all clear. We have to stay here until he gets back.”

He heard a noise from behind a tree, seeing Sho’s head poke out. “You said you wouldn’t come here!”

He turned his back, shaking his head. “Oh, excuse me, Your Highness, I was only attempting to save you from potential danger. I won’t make that mistake again!”

As the rumble of the other trucks came closer, Jun ducked further into the forest, keeping just in sight of the road but crouching down behind a fallen log. Sho, once he heard the noise, was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Jun watched as three, five, seven troop transport trucks passed by on the road they were all set to take to Hanamigawa. 

Minato wasn’t stupid enough to declare war on a neutral Chiba, which despite its lack of interest in martial matters had quite the cache of weapons, a powerful navy, and aeroplanes that could easily outnumber and crush Minato’s army. No, these troops weren’t on a course to invade. They were off to secure the border. Whatever happened on the train had not been an end but a beginning.

The last time Minato’s borders had been closed or restricted this much had been during the last coup d’etat. With the assassination of the government minister, the uprisings in Shirokanedai that the minister had been off to examine, Jun wondered if General Higashiyama’s government was gasping its final breaths. Things had seemed stable though, for so many months. But secret police and a propaganda machine like Higashiyama’s could send any message it wanted.

The message being sent now had Jun sick to his stomach. If even the Minato side of the Hanamigawa Bridge would be heavily guarded, then how the hell were they going to get into Chiba? They were fifty miles from the border, and the entire border in this part of the east was one long, snaking river. Hanamigawa was the best crossing, Urayasu mere steps behind. They didn’t have enough petrol to go somewhere else, and with the trucks going by, getting into a town to refuel would be impossible.

When they’d parked at the crossroads, they’d had petrol to get them another twenty-five miles, but now Nino was driving in circles, waiting for the coast to clear. What would they do? Where would they go?

When the road was clear again, Jun got to his feet. Sticks broke under his feet as he moved through the woods, heading back for Sho’s tree. He saw Sho’s button down shirt hanging precariously on a branch sticking out of a bush, and Sho a few steps away.

Sho hadn’t heard him coming, and Jun stopped in his tracks. Sho was reaching back over his shoulder, some white cream on his fingers. Jun couldn’t help watching as he tried to reach a spot further down, a harsh red patch of scarred tissue on the lower edge of his left shoulder blade. He tried and tried, fingers stretching and giving up, rubbing the cream into skin he could actually reach. The soft, pained noises of exertion he was making ate away at Jun. Nino had been right. He should have let Sho keep this secret for as long as he liked.

Sho stopped, seeming to sense he was being watched. He turned a bit awkwardly, an arm instinctively trying to come across and cover his bared upper body. Jun bit his lip, seeing that the wound on Sho’s back had a twin on the front, a smaller red scar. He’d been shot. Through his shoulder, through the front and out the back. Sho had been shot.

“You said you wouldn’t look.” There was a defeated sound to Sho’s voice, and he eventually just let his hand drop, no longer caring about modesty. 

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s part of what I don’t remember, although with some of the dreams I’ve had, I’ve got a couple ideas,” Sho admitted, looking anywhere but at Jun. His shirt was still on the bush, out of his reach unless he walked up next to Jun. “It was infected by the time I was brought to a hospital. It never healed right. It hurts like a bitch.”

“That stuff actually works?” Jun asked, gesturing to the jar in Sho’s hand.

“Yeah.”

“But you can’t reach it. On your back.”

“The whole side can get inflamed if I overwork the muscles back there,” Sho admitted. “Even if I can’t reach the scar, it helps the parts that I can get to.”

Jun took a breath and a step forward. “I could help you.”

Sho looked up at the trees, the canopy overhead. Sho was so embarrassed, Jun thought he might burst into tears at any moment. This was Jun’s fault. Sho was so exposed, so vulnerable. All these weeks he’d done everything he could to act like nothing was wrong at all. But it was clear now, it was obvious, that Sho had been suffering silently, day after day after day.

He took another step, and Sho didn’t move. “Sho-kun,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let me help. Please.”

Sho took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. Jun could see goosebumps up and down his arms, across his chest and flat stomach. From the cold or from fright, Jun couldn’t be sure. Then Sho turned around, trusting enough to turn his back. He held his arm out to the side, holding up the jar of cream.

Jun stepped forward quietly, taking it from his hand. Sho’s arm hung there in the air for another few brief moments before dropping back to his side. “How much?”

“100 yen piece. That should do it.”

There was a bitter medicinal smell to it as Jun stuck his index and middle fingers into the jar. He put the jar down on the ground beside them and inhaled, exhaled as he took hold of Sho’s shoulder with one hand, holding him steady and pressing the dollop of cream on his fingers against his scar. Unable to run away, unable to do anything but trust him, Sho’s breaths came in shallow, nervous gasps.

“Your hands are cold,” Sho complained quietly.

“Sorry,” Jun murmured in reply before getting to work. He moved his fingers in a circular motion, rubbing the cream into Sho’s skin. Up this close, the angry red skin was warm to the touch despite how cold Sho otherwise seemed. Standing this close, he could see a few beads of sweat dripping down Sho’s neck, probably from his earlier efforts to put the cream on his back.

Sho had always smelled like the heavy soap he’d used when bathing. One time Eriko had swapped out his usual soap for one of hers, a girlish lavender. Sho had been too ashamed to admit how much he’d liked it, washing up again and again with the lavender until the entire bar was used up, not once saying a word to his sister about it in hopes of ruining her fun. Sho didn’t smell like lavender or the fancy, fresh-scented soaps of Mita Palace now.

There was the harshness of the cream as Jun rubbed it into his skin, the musky smell of his sweat. The soap in the farmhouse had been stale, all the scent long lost. He wasn’t the Sho of his childhood and he never would be again. The Sho under his fingertips had filled out over the years. He’d grown taller, and all of the work he’d done at the boys’ home, all the hours toiling outside had left him with muscular arms, a steady solidness that wasn’t at all like the softer, pampered boy Jun had grown up with. But Jun supposed he was different too. They weren’t those boys any more.

Sho groaned a little, and Jun mumbled an apology for rubbing a little too hard. He backed away unsteadily when he was finished, Sho’s fingers moving to his shoulder where Jun’s had just been. He turned, the look in his eyes difficult to read. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Since the hospital,” Sho admitted, crouching down to retrieve the jar and twisting the lid back on, “I haven’t shown anyone. They knew at the school that I had a bad shoulder, but I didn’t say what had caused it. They knew I was a veteran so they didn’t ask and…” Sho paused, a peculiar look in his eyes.

“What is it?”

Sho looked up, a bit of surprise in his face. “I wasn’t actually a veteran. I believed it with everything I had, but it was just another lie. Wasn’t it?”

Jun didn’t have an answer for him, letting Sho move past him to retrieve his shirt. He buttoned it up quickly, hiding his scars away once more. By the time Sho was buttoning the last one near his collar, there was a noisy honking, four in a row.

“Nino?” Sho asked, seeming far more comfortable with his shirt back on, with nobody able to detect what he was hiding.

“I doubt an army transport would honk like that.”

Without another word, Sho headed back through the forest and Jun followed a few paces behind, wondering how Sho had managed to escape from Sakura House and at what cost.


	6. Chapter 6

**—then—**

Mita Palace  
Keio, Kingdom of Minato

It’s rare, a day where his mother doesn’t once leave his side. He wakes from feverish dreams to see her still sitting with him, humming gently as she wipes his face with a cool cloth. The influenza outbreak has finally reached Keio, and it’s no secret that the death toll is rising. Jun is fourteen, and he’d normally be rather embarrassed to be coddled so, but he feels so miserable that he welcomes his mother’s tender loving care.

The palace is mostly locked down now that the sickness has reached the servants’ quarters. The King is off in Kansai with his advisors and war council, so it’s only the Queen and the children at the palace. As far as Jun’s been told, they’re sequestered in the nursery. Well, Sho’s not, but he’s been neck-deep in language lessons with his tutor the last few weeks and has barely emerged for air. Jun’s just happy he hasn’t made the Crown Prince sick.

His mother speaks of his father very seldom, a soldier who’d been quartered at the palace in her early days here, when Sho’s grandfather was in his final months of rule and Sho himself had just been born. Matsumoto Hana had only just discovered she was pregnant when the soldier was shipped off. “It wasn’t love, not quite,” she’s always explained in such a matter-of-fact tone. “I saved all my love for you, Jun.”

For many years, he’s rolled his eyes at the cheesiness of that, wondering if there was more to the story than that. If his mother’s heart had been broken, if the soldier had been married. All he knows is that the man had been promoted to lieutenant before dying in some skirmish, trying to put down a worker uprising in the south. He’d been four, and he doesn’t remember how his mother reacted. She doesn’t even have a picture of him.

But as she tends to him, telling him stories of her childhood in Chiba, she also tells him that she sees his father in him, in his face. The more he grows, the more Jun seems to resemble him. He wonders if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

He fades in and out and is returning from a strange dream of dancing knives and forks, the ones that he polishes regularly. He’s just emerging from that odd fog when there’s a knock at the door. His mother presses a kiss to his forehead and rises. He coughs, wondering who it might be. He definitely doesn’t expect the surprised sound to his mother’s voice when she says, “Your Highness, you mustn’t come here!”

Sho? Sho’s here?

He turns, but the door opens the wrong way and his mother is blocking him entirely. But he can hear Sho, his voice firm in the corridor. “Matsumoto-san, I must insist.”

“It it not proper. Please reconsider,” his mother is saying, and Jun can barely resist a smile. Few servants can get away with speaking to Sho this way. Sometimes Jun thinks that Sho treats Matsumoto Hana with the same respect he has for his own mother, if not more. For one, Hana does not force Sho to consider his future marriage.

“My father is away, and I am in charge,” Sho says arrogantly. “Stand aside and let Takenaka-sensei see him.”

Jun coughs hard, astonished. For years, Takenaka-sensei has been the Sakurai family’s trusted physician. He delivered all three royal children, helped a young Sho through measles and chicken pox, tended to Eriko when the last influenza outbreak touched the capital. It is an insult to such a highly-regarded physician to have him look at a servant. Does Sho realize what he’s doing?

But his mother allows the doctor into the room that morning, then that afternoon. Over the next few days, under Sho’s direct orders, Takenaka-sensei visits Jun repeatedly, bringing him medicines and providing him with diligent care. Even when his mother apologizes over and over again, the doctor just laughs. “I serve at the pleasure of our future king,” Takenaka-sensei says, patting Jun’s leg.

Jun is back on his feet, totally recovered, by the end of the week. He suspects that without Takenaka-sensei’s help and medicines that he’d have been ill for much longer. He may have even worsened. It’s his mother who makes the grave mistake. Because when King Hiroki returns, it’s obvious that nobody would have said anything to him. Not Sho, not Takenaka-sensei. But Matsumoto Hana requests an audience with the king and because of how dear she is to Queen Kanako, the king sees her without complaint.

Jun is by her side and cannot bring himself to stop her when she gets down on her knees and bows low to the king. “The Crown Prince saved my son’s life,” she says, voice strong and appreciative. “I would ask that my wages be taken until the full cost of Takenaka-sensei’s services are paid.”

The king has Sho summoned to the private audience chamber, and Jun keeps his head down, ashamed as the king berates his son in front of servants. “Takenaka-sensei is a graduate of the Royal Academy of Medicine and you had him enter the servants’ quarters!”

“Jun was ill,” Sho says, as if that’s explanation enough. It makes Jun’s heart ache to hear it.

“And how did you expect a servant to pay for the medicine? Takenaka-sensei is under our employ. He is paid from the royal treasury. So now the royal treasury has financed the recovery of a servant!” The king points to Jun’s mother. “This woman is prepared to have her wages taken from her. I suspect a few months’ worth of wages will not cover the doctor’s time and efforts, and yet she would pay it. Unlike you, she understands the real cost of your idiocy!”

Sho’s eyes flash with anger. “Then I shall pay it, father!”

Jun and his mother are dismissed and are not privy to the remainder of the argument. However, his mother’s wages are not taken from her. The topic is not to be discussed again, Hana explains after returning from tending to the queen.

Jun discusses it anyway, the next time he and Sho are alone. They speak of other things, of what is happening in Kansai, before Jun can bear to bring it up. “It was a breach of protocol,” Jun says quietly. “Having Takenaka-sensei treat me.”

“It was common sense,” Sho replies. “If you died of influenza, who would light the fire in my chamber?”

Jun looks over, and Sho can’t meet his eyes. He looks down, smiling. “Thank you, Sho-kun. Truly.”

It’s quiet for a while before he hears Sho’s mumbled “You’re welcome.”

**—now—**

Kaigan Ruins  
Near Minato/Chiba Border

The petrol remaining in the truck got them another twenty-seven miles, but after examining the atlas, they decided against Hanamigawa and the risk of being caught. Instead they’d taken a chance and driven further north. As the truck made its last gasps, Nino managed to pull off the road and into a grove of trees. They spent the night huddled together, the three of them, in the truck cab. Sho woke to the feeling of Jun’s head resting on his shoulder, and he let him stay like that a while before he slipped out to relieve himself.

Upon his return, Jun and Nino were already stirring. It was about twenty miles to the border, their current destination Kaigan City. Or what remained of it.

A tornado had flattened the town when Sho was ten, taking with it a majority of the three thousand residents. An unprecedented loss of life in the region, most survivors had moved south to Hanamigawa or further to Funabori. Even the out-of-date atlas they were using listed Kaigan City as a desolate ruin. But it had once had a bridge over the river, the furthest the river came inland from the border. It would be a journey of two miles past the river to enter Chiba. They didn’t know if the bridge was still there, but at the very least there’d be no soldiers.

They took everything they could carry from the truck and set off on foot. Even with Sho’s bad foot slowing their pace, the terrain was flat and they reached the edge of Kaigan by mid-afternoon. In Keio, what happened in Kaigan had been a shocking tragedy. Among the superstitious in the borderlands it was considered a cursed place. Rescue teams that had gone in to search for survivors had lost men, crushed in collapsing buildings. A team of doctors from Chiba had gone missing, even though they were a mere two miles from their home country.

Clean-up efforts had been abandoned, and though it had only been about twenty, twenty-five years since the tornado, Kaigan was frightening to behold. A trading town, the main square had once been home to wagons and caravans. Some were still there, turned on their sides, wheels bent and spinning a little in the early spring breeze. The streets were still strewn with debris, and Nino nearly cut himself open when he tripped over a metal beam. They slowed their pace, making their way around uprooted and rotted trees, boots crunching on shattered glass. Sho could have sworn he’d seen bones, part of a human skeleton poking out from under some wooden boards, perhaps a hand reaching out for a dirtied toy.

Jun stopped in the middle of the road, setting down the bag he was carrying. Nino put a hand on his shoulder. “We should keep moving. Could be scavengers around,” he said.

“What’s to be scavenged?” Jun scoffed, taking a look around.

Nino nodded. “I don’t much like walking through an open grave either, Jun-kun, but we have little choice.”

Jun looked miserable. “We gave up on this place. Minato did, I mean. We just left all this. Nobody even buried these people.”

“It wasn’t safe,” Sho said. “I suppose that’s what was decided.”

Jun gestured around at the ruined buildings, the gnarled trees pulled up and out of the ground. “It’s the way of this country. We let things fester and ruin instead of fixing them. They think the answer is always with a new government, a new general calling all the shots. Building more buildings to house people, but building them so shoddily that they’ll just throw up their hands and shrug when they collapse. Killing more people when they disagree with how things are done. What kind of country is this? And now we’re just leaving. We’re the ones throwing up our hands and walking away thinking there’s nothing to be done.”

Nino crossed his arms. “Why are you suddenly so patriotic?”

“I’m not,” Jun admitted. “I just think it’s…wrong. It’s like what Sho-kun said, about taking the truck. If we hadn’t left money for those people, we know what would have happened to them.”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Oh god, come on. We don’t know anything for a certainty.”

Sho stepped forward, trying to meet Jun’s eyes. “You’re right. It’s selfish what we’re doing. We’re running away.”

“And why shouldn’t we?” Nino shot back. “Why shouldn’t we want something better?”

“Why should our ‘something better’ come with such a high cost?” Sho asked. He looked between the two of them. “We’ve stolen and we’ve lied. We’re on our way to take money from Masaki and then what? That reward, that massive crazy golden reward…we’re just going to pamper ourselves with it?”

Nino was silent. Sho knew Nino had every intention of using his share of the reward to help his parents, but aside from that…

“What do you really want, Jun?” Sho asked gently. “What do you think we should do?”

Jun thought it over for a moment, his face utterly serious. Sho didn’t know why, but he felt a strange sense of pride knowing that Jun wasn’t just motivated by money. “I don’t know. I don’t know yet. But I think we have to help. We have to help Minato.”

“A true humanitarian, Matsumoto Jun,” Nino said, hoisting his bag and walking again. “Dream all you want about turning Minato into some happy, cheery paradise, even though it’s never been like that, will never be like that, and you know it. Kings didn’t make it that way and warlord generals didn’t either. But dream away, so long as we keep moving. We’re two fucking miles from Chiba, and we don’t have time to get all sentimental for the country we’re leaving behind.”

Jun seemed like he wanted to say something, and if he did, Sho imagined it would be about Ohno-san. Instead Jun stayed quiet, following Nino further east to the other end of town. Sho didn’t quite know how they could help Minato. Hell, they didn’t even know if Masaki would see them at this point. There were answers out there, surely, but none of them were readily apparent. 

But Sho understood Jun’s feelings, more than Jun could possibly realize. The more Sho came to accept who he was, what had happened to him, he remembered the things he’d been taught as a boy. There’d been many things he saw now as foolish. That by his royal birth he was better than the millions of people he’d been set to rule. That honoring treaties and mobilizing for war was more important than ensuring the people had food to eat. But as a boy, he’d also memorized the traditional coronation blessings bestowed on the King of Minato. The blessings he had expected to be given to him one day.

_May you guide us, your people, with a just and righteous hand. As a father provides for his children, so must you provide for us._

It was his duty to provide for Minato. He would never be crowned. He would never be their king, and he knew that. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t try and fulfill that promise.

By some miracle, the bridge over the river was still there, a wooden structure with several planks missing thanks to the tornado. But it still stretched over, spanning the distance. The only problem, in Sho’s eyes, was the height of it. The river crossings at Hanamigawa, at Funabori, were lower. The terrain was lower there, the bridges maybe ten, twenty feet over the waterline.

The bridge that spanned the Shibaura River at Kaigan was a different matter. The river wasn’t as wide, but the valley was deeper. What remained of the bridge went up and over the river, and it was maybe a fifty foot drop to the water below (and likely, a strong current and rocks). Sho had never been fond of heights. As a boy summering at Sakura House, he’d tried to assist in the groves of fruit trees one day, climbing up a ladder to help the field hands. He could still remember how frightened he’d become once he reached the top of the ladder, and he’d been wary of climbing high ever since.

As they approached, Nino grabbed a large piece of wood that had been flung this far from the ruined town by the tornado. He threw it onto the bridge, as though he expected it to land and shatter some of the wood planks. The bridge held firm, and apparently that was good enough for him. “See you on the other side,” Nino said cheerfully, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, testing each subsequent board with a few thumps of his foot before putting his full weight on it.

Jun, however, knew of Sho’s phobia. Of course he’d remember. As they’d grown older, Jun had never forgotten how cruel Sho had sometimes been to him. Cataloging Sho’s weaknesses in return had been a joy for him. “Would you prefer to swim across?” Jun asked, standing beside him at the beginning of the bridge. “Cut yourself to pieces on those rocks?”

“No,” Sho mumbled, shaking so hard he was afraid he might wet his pants. “What if I close my eyes to cross?”

Jun’s mean-spirited little laugh was rather annoying, but at least he was in a better mood than he’d been in earlier, walking through the ruined, abandoned town. “Come on, Sho-kun.” He gave Sho a little push and he couldn’t help moaning weakly in reply. “Seriously? Aren’t you an adult?”

“It’s really high,” Sho whined, clinging to the strap of his satchel. “You go ahead, I’ll follow you.”

“Nope,” Jun decided, “because if I go ahead, you’re not going to move and I’d rather not have to come back and carry you across.”

“You couldn’t carry me,” Sho grumbled.

“Try me.”

He looked beside him, seeing the wicked glint in Jun’s eyes. Sho still had trouble reconciling the grown man at his side, the strong and tall Jun of today, with the scrawny, shy Jun of his increasingly returning memories. “Isn’t there anything you’re afraid of?” He leaned forward, into Jun’s space, scowling. “Are you still scared of the dark?”

Jun gave him another push. “No. Now move.”

It wasn’t the manliest moment of his life, making his way across the old bridge and whimpering like a baby the entire time. It didn’t help that Jun was walking behind him, laughing and teasing, walking so close that Sho had no choice but to keep moving or get pushed again.

“You can do it!” Jun said, poking him repeatedly in the spine as he was walking, still being careful to avoid Sho’s damaged shoulder. He wasn’t entirely heartless.

“I don’t need or require your support, Matsumoto,” he complained in return. “And I seem to recall a little servant boy who…”

Sho felt Jun push him hard when the boards shattered just behind him.

“Jun!” Nino screamed from the other side, and Sho whirled around just in time to see Jun fall through, his hand missing the boards at Sho’s feet. He hadn’t even had time to shout in surprise. He’d tried to push Sho forward and out of harm’s way instead.

Sho lunged for the now broken space behind him, hearing two splashes in quick succession far below. “No,” Sho gasped. “Oh no no no…”

“Jun!” Nino was screaming, over and over. Sho ran the rest of the way across the bridge, two or three shuddering planks at a time. Nino had dropped his bag, was already skidding down the embankment toward the river. Sho overtook him easily, horror and adrenaline pushing him forward. He nearly tripped and fell, stumbling over slippery rocks and grass, his hands squishing in the mud as he desperately hurried to the water. Jun had fallen in, Jun had fallen in. He’d lost them all, his brain was reminding him. He’d lost them all, but he wasn’t going to lose Jun. He was _not_ going to lose Jun too. He dropped his satchel in the mud and plunged into the river, his shoulder screaming as he ignored the freezing cold water and set out.

“There!” Nino was hollering. “Over there! Yoshimo-chan, he’s there!”

He saw as Jun surfaced about fifty feet away, gasping. Sho swam to him without stopping, hearing his heaving gasps for breath. He said nothing, merely getting an arm around Jun. He towed him to shore, teeth chattering and soaked to the bone. Nino was at the shoreline, knee-deep in the cold river and holding out a hand, helping to pull Jun out of the water. Sho’s clothes clung to him as he moved, crawling through the muddy shallows to where Nino was already dragging Jun onto the grassy embankment.

“Is he okay?” Sho asked, limbs shaking as he blinked water out of his eyes. “Nino, is he okay?”

“Ow,” Jun murmured, coughing up water.

“You lost another bag with our money in it,” Nino chided him, but with very little bite to his voice.

“Sorry,” Jun answered, shivering. Jun had probably dropped his bag of clothes and food as he fell. It had been the first splash before Jun himself had hit the water.

Sho was at Jun’s side, dirty fingers fluttering along Jun’s neck, his jaw. “You’re okay? Jun?”

Jun looked up at him, squinting a bit. He’d lost his glasses in the water too. “I shouldn’t have…” He coughed, wincing. “…shouldn’t have made you walk so fast.”

Sho flicked his forehead. “Stupid!” Jun had saved his life, nearly at the cost of his own. Sho’s heart was still racing, barely able to control himself. So close. It was too close a call. He didn’t want to be alone. He’d been alone for so long, and he finally had him back. Then he was cradling Jun’s face in his hands, crying, his entire body heaving and sobbing. “If I’d moved faster, you wouldn’t have fallen at all!”

“Sho-kun,” Jun mumbled, “I’m okay…”

Nino pushed Sho away from him gently. “Come on, both of you, before you freeze to death debating the structural integrity of that damn bridge. We’re across it, okay? Now let’s take care of you. I’d rather not wander on in to Chiba with two frozen icicle people.”

“That’s Prince Frozen Icicle,” Jun wheezed, pointing weakly at Sho. “Ninomiya, don’t you forget it.”

Nino rolled his eyes. “Order me around all you like, Matsumoto. I’m not the one who has to get naked so you don’t freeze in these soaking clothes. As soon as you can move, you’re getting naked in front of your beloved Prince Frozen Icicle so laugh all you want now.”

**—**

Shibaura River, East of Kaigan Ruins  
Near Minato/Chiba Border

To avoid having to move too much, since he was still sore from hitting the water hard, Nino had gotten a fire going not far from shore. Nino had taken charge rather easily, since he and Sho were mostly out of commission for a while. Up and down the slippery embankment Nino had moved, getting their bags and tugging out clean, dry clothes. Up and down the shoreline Nino had moved, finding driftwood to use for the fire, wetting a hand towel from his bag to clean some of the mud from Jun and Sho himself.

They were still shivering, the pair of them huddled side by side as Nino went to look for something they could use to cover themselves since it was likely they’d be spending the night here. Jun ached from head to toe, and though he was certain he could trudge his way to the border, Nino had already said he wasn’t going anywhere tonight.

Sho had been hysterical for ages, and he’d only calmed once Nino had given him a shake and commanded him to change clothes. Jun hadn’t seen him like that since the train, since that night when he’d finally emerged from that fog of amnesia. Jun could still hear his screams from their train compartment. Sho, despite his bad shoulder and his limp, had come running, diving into the water to save him without a second thought. Jun shut his eyes, listening to the pops and crackles from the fire.

His spare pair of eyeglasses had been in the bag he’d dropped in the river. Nino had walked up and down the shore looking for it, but it had presumably gone on its merry way. He could still see things up close, could read if he had something to read, but anything five feet away and beyond was impossible and would be until he got some new glasses. Their journey from Keio to the border had been horrible enough, and Maku-Harihongo was still a good distance away. Now he was pretty fucking useless. He couldn’t see, he wouldn’t be able to drive if they found a new truck to “borrow.” Jun hated being dependent on people, and now he had little choice. He was going to slow them down.

And then he didn’t exactly know how to deal with the fall to begin with. He could have clung to Sho, tried to save himself, knocking them both forward onto the bridge and praying it didn’t collapse all the way. Instead he’d given Sho a push, had let himself drop. Before he’d hit the water, though it had only been seconds between hearing the boards break and going under, he’d felt an extraordinary sense of clarity. Even if he drowned, even if he bashed his head on a rock and never came up again, at least Sho was okay. At least he could go on to Chiba, reunite with his cousin. With his family. 

Fifteen years ago, his mother had asked that of him. She had pressed a pouch full of coins into his hand, directing him to take Sho’s horse and get Sho over the border to safety. He’d never seen her alive again, but he knew what she’d done. She had given her life to try and save the family she served. She had roped Jun in to doing the same, commanding her own son to put the Sakurai family’s survival before their own. Once he’d come to terms with her death, he’d still disagreed with the choices she’d made. He’d been angry with her, for choosing them instead of him. For choosing them instead of herself.

And yet, hadn’t he just done the same thing? In saving Sho, a split second choice in the heat of the moment, Jun had accepted the possibility of giving his own life in exchange. Thinking of his mother made his heart ache, but for the first time in all these years, he could truly feel her presence again. Jun didn’t believe in ghosts or spirits, but it wasn’t so strange to imagine his mother somehow intervening that day, ensuring that when Jun fell he entered the water cleanly, without a sharp, jagged rock in sight.

She’d be proud of him, wouldn’t she? Fifteen years late, but he was getting Sho-kun to Chiba. He was doing as she asked.

“Are you alright?”

Sho’s warm voice tickled his ear, and he kept his eyes closed, wrapping Nino’s suit jacket tighter around him. 

“Jun?”

He nodded. “Just thinking.”

“You’re crying.”

“Am I?” He wiped his face, shrugging a bit. “Sorry.”

Sho chuckled quietly. “There’s no need for apologies. I ought to thank you.”

“I was thinking about my mother,” he admitted, opening his eyes again but staring only at the flames before them. He hoped Nino would get them something to eat soon.

“I see,” Sho replied. “That explains it then. I remember her. She was a good woman.”

“A stubborn one.”

Sho laughed again. “Most mothers are, putting up with sons like us.”

“She died at Sakura House that night.” He took a breath. “Do you remember?”

Sho was quiet. “Bits. Fragments.”

Jun found himself telling Sho his side of things. Fifteen long years, he’d only known his own experience of that day. His mother coming to him just before dark with money. Watching the guards, waiting for them to look away so he could run to the stables. Saddling Yama, riding her to town. Waiting and waiting and waiting at the ryokan. The soldiers coming to town, looking for Sho. Returning to Sakura House come morning, emerging from where he’d hidden in the woods to see the hole the guards had dug, seeing them drop bundled blankets into it. Bodies. The blankets, of course, that Jun thought included Sho as well. He’d been half out of his mind, paralyzed with shock. He hadn’t counted them accurately, had he?

Sho’s voice was shaky. “Just like that, an unmarked grave?”

“I’m sorry, Sho-kun.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Sho moved a little, probably to exercise his shoulder a bit. “You remember the cellar? The passages that we used to sneak around in?”

“Yeah.”

“A guard was trying to take me out of the house that way. I must have gotten shot then. Those walls were thin, I bet it just passed right through.” Sho took a deep breath. “I don’t remember it well, and I think your mother had something to do with it.”

“How?”

“I remember her bringing me a drink on a tray. I remember her face. I remember…I remember asking her where you were. It was the afternoon, and we sometimes played cards in the afternoon, didn’t we? You, me, my sister…”

Jun nodded, remembering. There’d been so little to do at Sakura House, in those last weeks. They’d been shut up in the house, the family and handful of servants. There’d been whispers that the family would be moved elsewhere, but nobody knew where. Obviously that plan hadn’t happened. “She’d already sent me off.”

“She probably knew I wouldn’t go quietly, or that I wouldn’t trust the guard. She put something in that drink. It’s why so much of it is a blur when I can remember so much else now.” Sho shook his head. “After that I never saw her again. They must have…well, they must have after my parents…”

Jun rested a hand on Sho’s thigh, quieting him. “It’s okay. We don’t have to…it’s okay if you don’t know, I didn’t expect you to.”

“I’m sorry, Jun,” he whispered. “She saved my life, I’m sure of it.”

“It was very sudden,” Jun said. “She tried to save you all.”

“She’d know how to save Minato, wouldn’t she?”

Jun felt himself smiling sadly. “Probably.”

He moved his hand away from Sho when Nino returned, having dug through the ruins of an overturned wagon on this side of the river and finding a few saddle blankets. They were musty but dry, and Jun sighed in contentment when Nino tucked one around him, rubbing his shoulders and his back. “When we get to Maku-Harihongo you can hire someone to massage you. This is a one time service.”

Nino warmed up the tins of beans and other vegetables, making sure they all ate their fill. The three of them were exhausted, lying down on the old blankets and liable to sleep through the night with no problems. They were two miles from Chiba, and Jun just hoped it would be easier now. He couldn’t imagine things going any more wrong for them.

He had Nino curled up on one side, Sho on the other. He shut his eyes and tried to shove away the intensity of the feelings coursing through him. Because Jun knew exactly why he’d done what he’d done that day. Fulfilling his mother’s final wish? Not entirely. Ensuring that the fallen heir to the Kingdom of Minato made it safely to Chiba? Not exactly.

He’d pushed him, saved his life, because the way he felt about Sakurai Sho had not changed in fifteen years. He’d known it when the boards on the bridge had cracked, when he’d been about to hit the water. He’d known it on the train, when he’d taken Sho’s face in his hands and begged him to escape with him to safety. He’d known it in Mita Palace when he’d held up the lantern and seen Yoshimoto Koya for the first time. 

He would do anything for Sakurai Sho, absolutely anything, and that terrified him. 

He loved Sakurai Sho, and that frightened him all the more.

**—then—**

Sakura House  
Near Gunma Town, Kingdom of Minato

At first there were twenty soldiers quartered at Sakura House. In those early days, there was still the belief that Chiba might do something. That King Masayoshi would demand the family be sent to Keikarou Palace. Two seasons have already passed out here in the quiet countryside, and Chiba has not answered the Sakurai family’s call.

It’s angering to know that family cannot be relied upon when needed most. Sho suspects if his cousin Masaki were king that he’d have sent in full battalions to rescue them. Masaki, even growing up, was a kind soul, gentle with animals and respectful of his elders. But his strongest trait had been his loyalty. In every letter, Sho could just hear his cousin’s anguish, his feelings of helplessness for being unable to send aid. The letters have stopped. Unfortunately Chiba has chosen to be loyal to itself instead of sticking its nose in another country’s civil war. Masaki, as Chiba’s heir, has probably been forced to accept this reality.

With nobody coming to their rescue, General Kitagawa has pulled most of the soldiers away. There are six of them now, and Sho knows them each by name. Sato. Uchiumi. Osawa. Kimura. Mori. Inohara. Orders arrive for them every few days by courier and they’ve mostly remained unchanged. Maintain watch of Sakurai family. Do not allow them to communicate with the outside world. Watch the servants to ensure they do the same.

He feels like a bird in a cage, although there are worse cages to be trapped in. The grounds of Sakura House are rather extensive, and he’s allowed to exercise outdoors. When he rides Yama, though, the guards ride mounts to either side of him. Sho hasn’t been able to take Yama out for anything faster than a trot the entire time. He wonders sometimes what they’d do if he urged the horse on, made a run for it. Would they shoot him in the back?

His father goes for long walks, often with Sato or Uchiumi by his side. His mother sits in the parlor with Eriko, Ryota, and Hana-san, the women knitting. Sometimes his mother, of royal birth and a grand lady, launders the soldiers’ uniforms for them. Her soft, elegant hands now have calluses. Sho can’t bear to look at them. Ryota has no idea what’s going on and Sho plays with him, reads him bedtime stories. 

Cook was dismissed a few months back, and Amami-san, the housekeeper who stayed behind at Sakura House when everyone else left, now cooks and cleans the house with Hana-san’s help. There’s a groom who maintains the stable and the animals within, a groundskeeper, and that’s it. Well, there’s Jun too. Sho knows it’s meant mainly as an insult, that a boy who has only just turned seventeen is valet, footman, and head butler all at once. He dresses Sakurai Hiroki for dinner, brushing lint from his collar before hurrying downstairs to set the table, to hold out trays to serve them. Jun does all of this with such pride, with courage. 

Sho wishes they’d just stop with the ceremony of it entirely. The monarchy is abolished. There’s no need to dress for dinner, especially since they have few clothes left here. Anything with fine fabric, anything of his mother’s that had jewels or pearls sewn into it, has been taken away and sold just like what happened back at the palace. Sho’s taken to wearing cotton button-down shirts and ordinary trousers. He lets Jun call him “Sho-kun” even when their parents are around.

He doesn’t understand why his family has befriended the soldiers. Sometimes they’re even invited to join them at the table for dinner, Jun holding out a tray for Private Mori in the same way he would for Sho’s father. His mother says they’re just doing their jobs, which is true, but Sho wants to remind her who they’re doing their jobs for. Who their employer is.

Sho is desperate for news about Minato. Any news. Which cities have gone over to Kitagawa, which ones might still have pockets of people loyal to the royal family. He wonders if anyone even knows what happened to them. One day they were still living in the palace, the next they weren’t. The noble families fled fast, the ones that had the means to. Sho knows many have been imprisoned, though he doubts they’re living as comfortably as those trapped at Sakura House.

The local newspaper from Gunma Town is delivered twice a week, on Wednesdays and Sundays. The soldiers are allowed to read it, the prisoners are not. When the soldiers have each had a chance to read it, Lieutenant Sato burns it himself. But Jun has been Sho’s eyes lately. He helps his mother and Amami-san clean the soldiers’ rooms. He doesn’t dare take anything, but one morning he brings a pencil and paper to Inohara’s room, finding a newspaper left behind on the nightstand. Jun hurriedly copies down all the headlines, the topics of the main stories. Sho is due to take Yama out that afternoon, and Jun plans to meet him at Yama’s stall in the stables.

Jun’s just slipped the paper into Sho’s fingers when Lieutenant Kimura comes into the stable. Sho lets the paper drop down behind him, stepping on top of it with his riding boot. Lieutenant Kimura is twenty-seven, handsome, and Eriko has a stupid crush on him. He’s also an elite sharpshooter. Sho knows this because when Kimura came home from the Western War, Sho’s father pinned a medal on him. 

“Aren’t you needed in the house?” Kimura asks Jun, who has no choice but to dash off. As soon as it’s just the two of them, aside from the horses, Kimura looks at Sho with something close to boredom. “This is the kind of thing we have to report back about.”

Sho scowls at him. “What are you talking about?”

Kimura comes up to him but Sho stands his ground. The lieutenant doesn’t touch him, but moves behind him, brushing the straw aside to find the paper Sho’s still got under his boot. “I’d let me have that.”

Sho lifts his foot, and Kimura takes the paper. He comes back around, unfolding it. His face betrays nothing as he reads whatever Jun’s written on it. When he’s finished, he shoves it in his pocket. 

“You’ll get your friend in trouble,” Kimura says. “Asking him to do things like this for you.”

Sho looks away, fuming. “Why can’t I know? You’ve got us locked up here, so what does it matter?”

“I don’t make the rules, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”

Kimura considers him. “You’re better off as one,” he says quietly. “General Kitagawa isn’t the type to kill children.”

Sho’s blood runs cold. “Is that what it says? That we’re to be executed?”

“No. It doesn’t.” Kimura’s not very sympathetic. With his skills, he clearly finds this assignment beneath him. “But one day it might. Ignorance can sometimes be preferable, Sakurai Sho.”

He suddenly doesn’t have the stomach for a ride. He instead moves to the stable’s supply cupboard, pulling out what he needs. “I think I’ll just tend to my horse and not ride her today.” Sho takes a breath. “Lieutenant.”

Kimura pulls up a stool and perches himself on it, watching him. He’s not going anywhere. As Sho brushes Yama, his hand shakes. He gets the feeling that Lieutenant Kimura isn’t planning to report him. But he can already sense his cage shrinking, inch by inch, minute by passing minute.

**—now—**

Nairiku Boarding House  
Inage, Kingdom of Chiba

They hadn’t expected the currency exchange rate to be as high as it actually was. Their Minato money was little better than trying to pay with newsprint, but they arrived in Inage exhausted, hungry, and in need of a proper night’s rest.

There’d been no soldiers at the Chiba border. They’d gone five miles inland before even being greeted with the knowledge that they’d entered a new country. A roadside sign welcoming them to Inage Prefecture, the sign emblazoned with the crest of the royal Aiba family. Nino had dropped his bag and hugged the sign, laughing loud enough to wake the dead.

They’d slept one night under a bridge, but one more full day of walking brought them to Inage, the main city in the prefecture. No soldiers walked the streets in Chiba, only the occasional policeman with a club rather than a rifle. It was a small market city, full of tradesmen and laborers. As they’d moved through the streets, looking for a place to change their money, Sho had been astonished by how happy the people seemed. It had been a long time since he’d seen folks with easy smiles and full bellies.

He’d been on a few royal visits as a child to visit his cousin’s kingdom. Chiba was similar in size to Minato but with more resources. Where Minato was mountainous, Chiba was home to vast plains and far more arable land. What a difference more farms made. What a difference decades without war made.

At the bank, they’d been worried about having to show identification. The clerk had to call over a manager, but only to ensure that the exchange rate was accurate. It seemed few people from Minato came through Inage as a first stop. Then again, few people from Minato came to Chiba at all these days. Especially the last few weeks.

While he, Jun, and Nino had fled the train that night, the regime in Keio had fallen. Chiba’s newspapers still had much of it as major news, but nobody here knew the full extent of what had happened. General Higashiyama was out, along with all of his ministers. The General himself had been imprisoned while the rest of his ministers had been assassinated with calculated efficiency, the same as the Minister of Labor from the train. A new leader in Keio had yet to be announced, though the generals who had overthrown their leader were acting more civilized than usual. They would elect one of their own to govern rather than see whose individual army was mightiest. Perhaps none of them could muster up enough troops these days to try.

What the Chiba newspapers didn’t know, the Nairiku Boarding House filled in for them. The owner hadn’t batted an eye at their lack of identity cards, saying “I know a Minato man when I see one,” and charging them a costly, yet most likely fair rate for three beds in a large men’s dorm of twenty.

Learning that the coup this time had been more bloodless than usual, save for the government ministers, had both Nino and Jun relieved. For now, it meant that Ohno Satoshi was safe in Keio, that Nino’s parents in the borderlands would mostly carry on as they always had. Minato was still as much of a mess as before, but at least it wasn’t gearing up for yet another civil war it could not afford.

While Nino set to work using his usual charms to determine how they might best reach Maku-Harihongo, the capital city nearly two hundred miles to the southwest, Sho had a less enviable task that afternoon. He was walking with Jun to see just how much it might cost to get him a new pair of glasses. Already, after changing their money, they barely had enough for a night or two in the capital. Jun wouldn’t exactly die in his current state, but he was eager to be rid of the inconvenience.

He wasn’t blind, but in an unfamiliar country, walking unfamiliar streets, Sho insisted that Jun remain at his side, stealing away some of Jun’s precious dignity by having him hold onto his arm while they moved.

“You’re treating me like some invalid out for their first walk in years,” Jun had been complaining for the last twenty minutes, squinting and squinting and squinting even though Sho told him he was going to give himself a headache.

“I’m happy to leave you in the middle of the town square,” Sho teased him. “Let you find your way back to the boarding house on your own.”

Jun sighed. “You can’t possibly know what it’s like.”

Sho halted them, pulling Jun aside and letting a woman pass by with a baby carriage. “Oh you don’t think I could?”

“You have good eyes.”

“Yes, but I have a bum shoulder and a bad foot and don’t complain about it half as much as you’ve been whining about these glasses.”

Sho watched Jun’s face, saw the shame creeping across his features, a near-crimson stain. “I…sorry. I didn’t mean it like that…”

“I know you didn’t.”

Jun looked away as they kept walking. “I know about your shoulder. Will you tell me why you limp?”

“The night everything happened, the night I was shot. When I was taken away from the house, I was hardly dressed for the weather.”

“It was cold,” Jun nodded, remembering.

“I wasn’t wearing boots. Wherever I was taken those first few days, they didn’t check because when they finally got me to a hospital, the wound in my shoulder was infected and I couldn’t walk. It was from that night, frostbite, they had to take two of my toes.”

Jun winced. “Ouch.”

He shrugged. “Thankfully I was in so much pain elsewhere that I don’t really remember it.” He’d woken up at Kamezuka Hospital, not knowing who he even was. Both his feet had been wrapped up. He’d been on so many painkillers that they’d only told him about the toes on the third day after he’d been brought in. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Still got eight left, can’t complain,” he said gently. “Damaged goods though, hope Masaki isn’t planning to show me off to anyone.”

“I doubt he’d have you go barefoot,” Jun said, his voice a little stronger.

He smiled, squeezing Jun’s shoulder. “Shall we keep looking to fix your little problem?”

“We should save for the capital.”

“Jun, I can’t get my toes back. But if they could magically get sewn back on, I’d go for it.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry about the capital. Don’t worry about the money. We’ll manage, as we’ve managed all this way.”

They found a shop for spectacles a few blocks from the main square, an older doctor with lenses of his own so thick Sho was astonished he could see at all. The man finished up with one patient before sitting Jun down. They weren’t staying in Inage long enough for lenses to be ground to Jun’s exact needs, but the doctor did have a few pairs at varying strengths that would at least give Jun a boost until he could afford a brand new pair.

Sho was amused by how vain Jun had become after all these years. He tried on and dismissed several pairs. Too big, too small, an unflattering color. “Shouldn’t it be about correcting your vision?” Sho teased him, examining a few pairs himself.

“It’s _my_ face.”

The doctor lost patience with Jun, retreating to his office in the back and leaving them to the pairs remaining. Sho found a pair in a dark tortoiseshell color, circular lenses that reminded him a bit of the ones Jun had worn when he was young. He lifted them, biting his lip to keep from laughing. Jun practically had his face glued to the mirror by another display case, and Sho came up behind him, his shoulder protesting as he lifted his arms to bring them over Jun’s head and in front of his eyes.

“How about these?”

Jun seemed almost paralyzed. “Sho-kun.”

“Hmm?”

He hadn’t thought about it, he’d just seen the glasses and snatched them up. But he was close, so close, pressed against Jun’s back, arms around his shoulders. If the doctor returned from his office, it would be rather embarrassing.

Sho moved back, glasses still in hand. “Sorry, I just…thought they might suit you.”

Jun turned, taking the glasses from him and trying them on. “They do,” he said quietly.

Things between him and Jun, they’d been a little odd since the bridge. Although, to be fair, things had been a little odd from the very beginning. The more he remembered, the harder it was to be around Jun. It had almost been easier to be Yoshimoto Koya. There’d been far less emotional baggage to carry. Matsumoto the stranger was less troublesome than Jun, who knew all his secrets.

Jun balked at the price of the glasses and was halfway to leaving the store, but Sho called for the doctor and paid for them anyway. The lenses were a bit weaker than what Jun was used to, but at the very least they wouldn’t have to be joined at the hip while they walked back to the boarding house.

They found a note from Nino, that he was “following up on things” and would probably return to the boarding house late. Without Nino to lighten the atmosphere, Sho found himself sitting in the dining hall having a silent dinner with Jun. Slurping down broth and munching on potstickers, fortunately it was one of the best meals they’d had in ages. With the new glasses, Jun looked younger, softer. Sho mostly kept his head down during dinner, thinking back to his rather presumptuous behavior at the doctor’s office. 

The dorm was halfway full when they turned in for the night, their beds side by side. It was the first solid night’s sleep they’d be getting after their desperate escape from Keio. Even with other bodies in the room, snoring, tossing and turning, Sho found himself looking at the outline of Jun’s body in the bed across from him, unable to focus on anything else. 

What would happen if they failed? If they couldn’t make it to the capital or if they were denied access to Masaki?Would they be able to settle in Chiba? Without legitimate identities, they faced potential deportation. He didn’t know what Chiba’s current stance was about people seeking political asylum. Nino, he had skills in areas Sho would never fully know, he’d easily find his way in a new country. But Sho? Jun? How would they survive without money? Would they stay together?

The thought of being separated made Sho’s brain go into a panic. He shut his eyes, frightened at the thought. The shock and horror of what had happened to his family had been enough to make him lose his mind, to erase himself. Fifteen years of loneliness had followed it. Now he finally knew who he was, good and bad. And from that time, from all those years ago, all he had was Jun. What Jun had meant to him, back then, it had sometimes been as troubling as it had been a comfort. And what did Jun mean to him now? Why could nothing ever be simple? 

He nearly jolted from the bed when he felt a hand grab his foot. He hadn’t even heard Nino come in. While Jun had somehow found his way to peaceful slumber, Sho had yet to sleep a wink. Nino sat down beside him, leaning over to whisper and keep from waking Jun. He smelled of liquor, like he’d been out on the town, but Sho knew he did everything with their goal in mind. Mostly.

“Found us a driver,” Nino said. “Gonna take us all the way to the capital.”

“You’re kidding,” Sho whispered back. “How are we going to afford that?”

“Found the one Minato sympathizer bar in town. Barkeep left Keio fifteen years back, started again here. Once I got to chatting with him, he roped in a friend who drives a truck. Said friend will take us the whole way.”

Sho’s heart raced. “What exactly did you tell this man about us?”

“Give me some credit, Yoshimo-chan, I didn’t tell him I was traveling with the prince of his old homeland. Nobody would have believed that,” Nino said, squeezing Sho’s arm through the blanket. “Just that we’re like him, looking for a better life. Also I may have given him some diamond earrings.”

“Since when are you carrying diamond earrings?”

“Since I spent my afternoon…wandering about town.”

“Nino!” Sho hissed.

Nino covered his mouth, chuckling. He was never going to change, was he? “When you talk with your cousin, you can have him cut taxes for this town for a decade to make up for it, alright?”

He was fuming, upset that Nino was once again forging their way to Maku-Harihongo by illegal means. His filching fingers had probably been itching since they’d left Keio, and now he’d stolen diamonds.

“One more thing,” Nino whispered. “The only reason I had to sweeten the deal and move up our timetable is because Minato’s not the only country undergoing a regime change. Seems like the King of Chiba is stepping down, abdicating, retiring, whatever they call it here.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” Nino said, his voice finally betraying a hint of nervousness. “It was announced here over a month ago, but word didn’t exactly trickle its way across the border. Your cousin’s moving up in the world.”

“Masaki…” Sho murmured in disbelief. 

He hadn’t seen his cousin in person since they were fourteen, before the Western War, before Sho’s parents had kept him in Keio, sequestering him in Mita Palace as a security measure. Sho had been short and small before a growth spurt hit after his sixteenth birthday, but his cousin, almost a full year younger than him, had towered over him for years. He’d been a shy boy, always doubting himself, his ability to rule someday. Now his time had arrived, but all Sho could imagine was that boy with the kind smile who’d been growing and growing and tripping over his own feet because of it. The boy who’d written him letters saying that he couldn’t change his father’s mind.

“By the time we reach the capital, it’ll be the week of the coronation. We need to get to him and fast,” Nino admitted. “Because once they crown him, he’s going to be untouchable for a while. They say he’s going to tour the country, that he’ll be away from the capital for months. It’s now or never, Yoshimo-chan.”

He took a deep breath, nodding in the darkened dormitory. “Let’s hope your barkeep’s friend is a speedy driver.”


	7. Chapter 7

National Route 16  
Near Wakaba, Kingdom of Chiba

What Nino had failed to make clear that morning upon discussing their transportation was that there was no such thing as a free ride to Maku-Harihongo. By luck of the draw (or more like luck of the rock-paper-scissors battle), Sho was now sitting up in the truck cab with their driver while Jun and Nino were stuck in the back with the produce.

The night before, Nino had managed to befriend a man named Morita who ran a bar on the outskirts of Inage. Morita, a native of Keio, had fled General Kitagawa’s army and begun a new life over the border. After Nino’s persistent persuasion, Morita had ensured that the three of them would get their ride to the capital on board the vegetable truck of his friend Okada, a farmer from Inage. Okada grew vegetables in a hothouse during the winter and early spring, and he was on his way to the capital with his truck full of cabbage. The short and fairly quiet fellow usually sold his produce in Inage, but was off to Maku-Harihongo in hopes of charging twice as much to those attending the forthcoming coronation of Aiba Masaki, the Prince of Chiba.

“Because when you think ‘coronation’,” Nino had been saying all morning as the truck bounced down the paved Chiba highway, “you think about buying some cabbage.”

“At least he doesn’t transport pigs,” Jun replied, realizing there were worse things to smell like than cabbage.

Like the truck they’d stolen in Minato, Okada’s truck was built for hauling and not for speed. They’d complete about three-quarters of the journey to the capital that day and would set out come morning for an afternoon arrival. Offers to help him drive through the night had been rejected by the farmer - he had a “lady friend” in the town they were stopping in for the night and there was no way he was going to miss the opportunity.

Though Morita the barkeep was sensitive to the plight of Minato, Okada the farmer was mostly just doing a favor for a friend. The three of them would likely spend the night in the “lady friend’s” cellar, but she wouldn’t have guest rooms to offer them. Jun wasn’t quite looking forward to sleeping in a damp basement while Farmer Okada got his jollies upstairs. But it sure beat sleeping out in the open or in the truck with the cabbage.

It was dusk when Okada pulled his truck into the sleepy farm town of Wakaba. The Miyazaki farm was a small dairy operation, and Jun looked the other way when Okada went running to the porch to swing a pretty young woman in his arms. The reunion was short-lived when Jun saw Okada point back to the truck, the woman’s eyes widening in surprise.

“Ah, I don’t think she’s too happy about this,” Nino said, sprawled awkwardly, surrounded by cabbage.

But then the other truck door opened, and Sho came out. “Sho-kun, wait,” Jun said, calling out to him, but he was already halfway to the porch.

The two of them, stuck in the back of the truck, watched as Sho introduced himself. Jun couldn’t quite hear what was happening, but the suspicious look in Miyazaki-san’s face changed after a few minutes’ discussion. She even shook Sho’s hand, smiling at him and even curtsying before waving to the truck and opening the screen door on her porch, disappearing into the farmhouse.

Okada came over, opening the tailgate to the truck. “Aoi-chan’s never met a prince before,” Okada said, looking the slightest bit jealous as he held out a hand so he and Nino could hop down.

“He’s…we’re just…” Nino stuttered, but Okada held up a hand.

“He’s the nephew of our king,” Okada said, sounding almost proud. “Prince Masaki’s cousin in the flesh. Really, really amazing.”

Jun and Nino said nothing more, the both of them a bit stunned by how easily Sho had told them who he truly was. It was dangerous doing that, in case gossip spread. Then again, maybe Sho didn’t want to sleep in the cellar of the farmhouse either.

Once inside, Jun could see the change in Sho. He was standing proudly, in the middle of telling Miyazaki-san about his love for Chiba, for Keikarou Palace and the royal family. How much his mother Queen Kanako had always missed her homeland. Jun looked over, seeing pictures on the mantel of a middle-aged man and woman, both crowned, their son standing behind them with a cheerful smile. Sho wandered over, his fingers brushing against the picture fondly.

“She keeps a picture of the royal family in the living room?” Nino whispered.

So she did, and according to Okada, so did many people in Chiba. The picture was apparently a few years old, but it was the soon to be retired King Masayoshi, his wife Queen Yuko. Behind them, their son Masaki, the future king. Tall and handsome, but with a bright, almost childlike smile. Miyazaki-san surprised them all, whipping up a huge dinner in honor of “Prince Masaki’s cousin.” It became clear during the meal that the people of Chiba adored their royals, that they were hopeful for many more years of peace and prosperity under King Masayoshi’s son.

Jun could see a barrage of emotions on Sho’s face while they ate, as he told Miyazaki-san stories of his childhood and the time he’d spent with Chiba’s beloved new king. For decades Minato’s royal family had been respected, but tolerated was a more accurate term. As Sho had grown, as harvests dwindled and wars led the treasury to bleed money, the royal family had come to be resented, hated. Jun’s heart ached for Sho, whose people had never loved him, had never prayed for his health and safety. And after fifteen years, Jun knew that many in Minato had simply forgotten him, their unlucky crown prince.

Instead of the cellar, Miyazaki-san offered up the ground floor of her small home to them, had gathered up some spare bedding and blankets. Before she headed upstairs for bed, an eager Okada at her heels, she knelt down before Sho, kissing his hands. “For years our prince has cried for the loss of you and your family,” Miyazaki said. “The joy your presence will bring him is a blessing for our country.”

Sho had tears in his eyes, begging for the woman to get to her feet. “Thank you. It will be a blessing for me, to see him and know him again.”

It was the right thing to say, as Miyazaki declared that she would rise early and fix them breakfast, elbowing poor farmer Okada and saying that if he knew what was good for him, he’d “bring the Crown Prince right to the front door of the palace.” Eventually the two of them went upstairs. Jun and Nino looked away politely as Sho wiped his eyes, blew his nose in a handkerchief.

“By tomorrow morning half of Chiba will know you’re here,” Nino chided him.

Sho shrugged. “In the truck, Okada-san said I’m far from the first, that there have been many coming forward in recent weeks. People posing as my sister, my mother…” Sho’s eyes darkened in anger. “Masaki himself has only seen a handful. He has a screener, if you will. His chief of staff vets candidates. It’s him we need to meet with first.”

“Why didn’t you say this earlier?” Jun asked.

“He was busy using his family connections to get us a free breakfast, Jun-kun. You have to admire his hustle,” Nino teased. “If you’ll excuse me, I still stink of cabbage and I’ll be washing up. Don’t steal all the blankets because I’ll just steal them back.”

Nino headed off for the washroom upstairs, leaving Jun and Sho in the middle of Miyazaki’s living room. Sho shuffled back over to the mantel, to the black-and-white photograph of his only remaining family. “Are you alright?” Jun asked quietly, crossing his arms.

Sho chuckled gently, gesturing to the picture. “He looks exactly the same.”

Jun nodded. “You do too, I’d say. He’ll know you by sight, the prince.”

“If I get to see him,” Sho said warily, looking back at him. “Don’t think I was using my time in the comfortable truck cab just to relax. I nearly talked Okada-san to death, but I found out what we needed. I think Nino would be proud of me. It’s a man named Ikuta, the chief of staff. He’s supposed to be tough. Masaki’s given him a whole list of things to ask, to weed out the impostors.”

“Well you’ll obviously pass.”

“That’s thanks to your help.”

Jun shook his head. “That’s thanks to your memories, Sho-kun.”

Sho’s smile was rather sad. “Could I ask a favor of you?”

“Anything,” he answered in barely an instant.

Sho seemed embarrassed. “My pain cream…I…I have need of it. It’s been a long day and…”

“Sho-kun,” Jun chastened him, stepping forward. “You need to say things like this earlier. If you’re in pain and you don’t have to be…”

Sho laughed. “I was just hoping maybe you might…” His ears were reddening. “…provide some assistance. I had to wait until they all went upstairs.”

“Sit down, I’ll help.”

He could see that Sho was no longer hiding his pain, limping a bit over to the dining table and having a seat. Jun rummaged through Sho’s satchel, finding the familiar jar. As quietly as he could, Jun pulled up another chair and sat behind him, growing nervous as Sho slowly unbuttoned his shirt, taking it off. The scarring didn’t look as angry and red as it had that day in the forest, so Jun assumed that Sho had been better about using the cream lately. 

He pressed the palm of his hand to the back of Sho’s neck, trying to keep calm. “Too cold?”

“No,” Sho mumbled. “Good thing we’re inside.”

Seeing the scarring again, Jun wondered if Sho remembered anything more about that night at Sakura House. At this point, he supposed it didn’t matter. He was finally here, in Chiba, safe and sound. If anyone was owed a favor by the universe, it was Sakurai Sho. Seeing the way Sho had looked at the portrait of his aunt and uncle, his cousin…his family, Jun knew they had to meet again. They simply had to. After so many years alone, what Sho needed most was a family who loved him. Jun, he was probably just a reminder of everything he’d lost. Jun was Sakura House, Jun was Mita Palace.

Sho was no longer considered royal in the country of his birth, but he was here, as first cousin of the future king. Sho would be cared for here. Sho would be respected here. The Aiba family could protect him in ways Jun simply could not. 

He tried to shove away those dark thoughts, the knowledge that there was likely no place for him once Sho was reunited with his family. Instead he dipped his fingers into the pain cream, feeling Sho’s tension ease as he gently massaged the cream into his skin. This, at least, was something he could still do for Sho.

He felt Sho relax under his touch, and Jun was grateful Sho was facing the other way. Jun didn’t need Sho to catch him crying.

“Thank you,” Sho eventually said. “I feel a lot better.”

“I’m glad.”

“I can do the rest myself.” Sho didn’t turn, only holding out his hand. Jun placed the cream there, and Sho took it, putting his shirt back on just as Nino was coming down the stairs. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

Nino ruffled Sho’s hair as he passed him, Sho playfully shoving him off. Nino’s friendly expression changed as soon as he approached the dining room, finding Jun still sitting in the chair, alone.

“He needs to know, Jun-kun,” Nino said, his eyes full of pity.

“He needs to know what?” Jun spat back, instantly annoyed.

Nino’s unnecessary pity seemed to grow. “Once we get the reward…if he doesn’t know, then what was it all for?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jun said, clenching his fist and looking instead at some of the watercolor paintings Miyazaki-san had hanging on her wall.

“You do know, you big idiot.” Nino rested a hand on Jun’s shoulder, sighing. Jun didn’t bother to shove him away. “Isn’t it better to tell him you’re in love with him, while you still can?”

Against his wishes, his eyes still stung with unshed tears. “He’s…he’s…Nino, it doesn’t matter…”

Nino wrapped his arms around his shoulders, squeezing him tight and Jun knew he couldn’t keep from crying any longer. He’d been found out, or, more likely, Nino had always known. Even before Yoshimoto Koya, even all those years where Jun had believed Sho was dead and gone, Nino had always known. 

He cried as quietly as he could manage, Nino there for him and not letting go. 

**—then—**

Mita Palace  
Keio, Kingdom of Minato

Sho doesn’t like that they’re evenly matched these days. It’s Sho’s fault anyhow, Jun thinks. It’s Sho who insists that Jun attends fencing and kendo lessons with him, so he has a sparring partner close in age and size. But if Sho’s expected Jun to just give in, to let Sho beat the crap out of him, then he’s chosen the wrong person.

Jun’s taller than him now, having grown several inches that summer, and Sho doesn’t like that either. Between his complaints about the workers rioting in Keio and the indignity that is not having grown as tall as he’d anticipated, the newly seventeen year old Sho is a real pain. That day Abe-sensei had asked them to go through the usual techniques, but Sho had been in the mood for a full on battle. That day Sho had not liked when Jun’s foil had registered the first hit, a graze against Sho’s side, and he’d gone ballistic, lunging at Jun again and again and again, nearly stabbing him under his fencing mask. “It wasn’t a hit!” Sho had screeched. “He didn’t hit me! He didn’t!”

Abe-sensei had had to break royal protocol, grabbing Sho and pulling him off of Jun before either of them was actually hurt. Jun had flung off his mask, thrown his foil to the ground. “I quit!” he’d managed to shout before storming out of the training room.

He’s back in the servants’ hall now, hiding in his room like a coward. He’s still in his white fencing uniform because it’s royal property and he has to bring it back at some point. His mother’s already been to see him, and boy was she pissed off. “Apologize to His Highness,” she’d yelled at him. “Apologize this instant!”

“It’s his fault,” Jun had said. “He’s a real piece of work.”

His mother had been even more irritated after that. She’d left him there, presumably to go off and beg Queen Kanako to not have Jun beheaded or something. Jun thinks that might be preferable to having to spend one more minute in the presence of someone as immature and stupid as Sakurai Sho.

There’s a knock at the door, and he assumes it’s Nishikiori-san. Jun’s neglected some cleaning, the usual complaint. But when he opens the door it’s Sho. “Don’t close the door on me,” Sho says, and for once it sounds like a request rather than an order.

Jun stands aside, letting Sho in.

“Lock it,” Sho says, taking a breath. “Please lock it.”

Confused, Jun does as he’s told. Sho hasn’t changed either, even though it’s been about an hour since the fencing incident, as he expects his mother will remember it. Sho’s pacing the small room, and Jun’s not sure what to do. He’s still mad at Sho, absolutely he is, but if Sho’s come to the servants’ quarters of his own volition, then perhaps he’s feeling bad for being such a jackass.

Jun stands still, watching his antsy movements. “What’s wrong with you?”

Sho shakes his head. “He’s going to tell you tonight. He’s going to call you to his private audience chamber.”

“Your father?”

“My father,” Sho says. “It’s a real honor, he’s told me. He says you’d be a fool to say no.”

“Say no to what?” Jun asks. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Finally, Sho stops his angry pacing, hands on his hips and face red from rage, irritation, hormones, whatever the hell’s going on with him. “General Kitagawa, the minister of war, he’s asked for additional funds to support the Minato War College. After everything in Kansai, all the soldiers that were lost, he wants more money for training. He wants to train an elite new group of officers for the next conflict, whenever that happens. My father has…” Sho pauses, his face pained. “My father believes that you’d be an excellent candidate for the War College.”

Jun’s shocked. “But I’m a servant…”

“And my father thinks with proper training you would be the ideal bodyguard for him. He’s let you train with me all these years for a reason, Jun. I just didn’t realize that it was for his benefit and not mine.”

He can’t help but be a little excited by this news. Nishikiori-san says that once Jun turns sixteen this summer he’ll be able to move up from his odd job houseboy duties to proper footman training. But what’s a life in service compared to the military, and training as an officer at that! Drills, tactics and strategy, marksmanship training…everything his father had been through, though Jun had never been able to meet him. And the king thinks he’d be good for this?

“I don’t want you to be his bodyguard,” Sho says, popping Jun’s bubble of excitement in an instant.

Jun scowls at him, unable to stop himself. “Why? Bodyguard to the king, that’s an important position!”

“Because the War College is in Atago!” Sho cries, kicking at the wooden trunk at the foot of Jun’s bed. “If you accept it, then you’d be sent away to Atago!”

Jun’s quiet. Even though the conflict in Kansai has ended, Keio’s been in a state of emergency for the last several months from riots and protests. Increasingly many of the riots are against the royal family. Minato is in danger. All the servants know it.

“Wouldn’t that be preferable?” Jun finally asks him. “You made it pretty clear today what you think of me.”

Sho moves quicker than Jun expects, trapping him against the wall. “You belong here. With me.”

Jun’s shaking. Sho’s never this close to him, never. Only when Jun dreams of him. “Sho-kun, if this is what your father wants…”

Sho pushes him, hand grasping the sleeve of his fencing uniform, looking into his eyes. Jun’s transfixed, his anger cooling the longer Sho stares at him. “You can’t leave me. I won’t allow it.”

“I don’t belong to you,” Jun whispers. When Sho leans closer, Jun shuts his eyes. His mouth has gone dry, and his heart is pounding in his chest. Sho’s never this close to him. “Sho-kun, I’m not…property. I’m not your whipping boy. I’m not a possession. I’m a person. I’m your friend.”

“Jun, don’t leave me,” Sho’s begging. It’s not a sound Jun is used to hearing. “Please don’t leave me.”

Before he can open his eyes, he feels Sho’s breath on his face, a nervous little puff of air before Sho’s kissing him. He doesn’t react, doesn’t even know _how_ to react. Sho pulls back just to breathe again, and when Jun doesn’t say anything or push him away, Sho keeps going. Jun gasps a bit when Sho’s hand sneaks around him, presses against his back. This time when Sho kisses him, Jun kisses back. 

What are they doing? What are they _doing_?

“Stop,” Jun says when Sho finally comes up for air. 

When he opens his eyes, Sho’s are almost black, his pupils huge and his breath coming in needy gasps. Sho’s staring at his mouth, won’t look at him properly.

“Sho, you can’t kiss me, I’m a servant.” And a boy, he wants to say too.

“I…I don’t care about…”

There’s a knock at the door, and they both jump. “Matsumoto-kun!” It’s Nishikiori-san. “Matsumoto-kun, come out of there at once! If you are not training with the Crown Prince then you are mine to order about!” The pounding on the door continues. “Matsumoto-kun!”

It’s Sho who moves first, undoing the lock and opening the door just before the head butler can bang on it again. Nishikiori-san turns an odd shade of purple, clasping his hands behind his back. “Your Highness! Please forgive my rudeness.”

“It’s fine,” Sho says, and Jun’s astonished by how calm he sounds. “I was just apologizing to Matsumoto for losing my temper. I had no intention of keeping him from his duties any longer.”

Nishikiori’s so stunned that he probably isn’t able to wonder why Sho needed to apologize to Jun behind a locked door in the servants’ quarters. He merely steps aside and Sho stomps off, holding his head high. Jun stumbles his way into the corridor, watching him go.

“You will change and report to Cook. There are potatoes that need peeling.”

Cook scolds Jun for being sloppy, but Jun can’t be bothered to care. He spends the rest of the day feeling like he’s floating. And when King Hiroki calls Jun in later that evening, he somehow finds the courage (or stupidity) to decline his offer for the War College.

“My place is here, serving the Sakurai family,” Jun says, still savoring the memory of his very first kiss.

**—now—**

East Terrace House, Offices of the Prince’s Chief of Staff  
Maku-Harihongo, Kingdom of Chiba

The capital’s Grand Canal twisted through the middle of the city, splitting it into two halves. In olden times, the northern settlement of Maku and the southern settlement of Harihongo were connected only by small ferries and barges across the canal. Over the centuries, development brought the two cities together and it was named the capital of the Kingdom of Chiba. Now dozens of bridges spanned across the canal while steam-powered barges puttered beneath them.

At the canal’s widest point was the Royal Isle, home to the grand Keikarou Palace, residence of the royal family. The battlements of the palace had evolved over time, the walls now crawling with ivy and flowers rather than holes carved out for cannons. A green, verdant paradise in the center of the capital. Beyond the palace walls, the rest of Royal Isle teemed with courtiers, with offices of various ministers and advisors. 

Okada and his truck were barred from entering Royal Isle, and so he’d left them at the southern end of Royal Bridge on the Harihongo side of the capital, honking his horn and heading off to sell his cabbage. 

Spring had come to Chiba, the wide boulevards of the capital lined with fragrant cherry blossom trees on the verge of blooming. Sho suspected they’d be perfect in time for the new king’s coronation parade to begin in a few days. Nearly forty years ago, the trees had been a gift from the Sakurai royal family on the occasion of a Chiba noble girl, the Lady Kanako, becoming engaged to marry Crown Prince Hiroki, the future King of Minato. Seeing the trees blowing in the breeze, he smiled at the memory of his mother and father. The hopes and dreams that had surrounded their marriage.

Though Sho had thought it best to secure accommodations first, Nino had pushed for them to get in immediately with Ikuta-san, Masaki’s chief of staff. “There’s a coronation in two days,” Nino had grumbled, “we’ll be lucky to find a cardboard box with the money we have left.”

Royal Bridge was closed off to motorcars and trucks, but pedestrians could cross freely. The three of them walked to the island in the center. Keikarou Palace rose up to their right, much of it hidden behind tall iron gates covered in vines. To the left were the offices. The entire island was bustling that afternoon, and they weren’t surprised. There was much to be done, events still being planned. The coronation, the parade, the ball to follow that evening at the palace.

Compared to Keio with its sprawl of concrete housing blocks and coal-blackened skies, Chiba’s capital was charming and uniform. None of its buildings rose higher than a few stories, buildings built of white stone and gray brick, windows adorned with wrought-iron balconies. The royal offices were in similar buildings, civilians and civil servants alike bustling through the streets.

Though they approached the West Terrace House, which had apparently housed the prince’s staffers and advisors, everything was in the process of being moved across a grassy quad to the East Terrace House. Nino led the way, dodging staffers and noisy tourists, to locate the offices of Ikuta Toma, Chief of Staff to King Masaki (the sign outside his offices on the second floor was already up to date).

To their astonishment, there were no Sho lookalikes sitting in the room already. Sho had for some reason expected to walk inside and find a dozen doppelgangers reciting his family tree to anyone who would listen. Instead they found a single woman at a desk, arranging papers in a folder. Jun gave Sho a nudge, pushing him forward after Nino, who had decided in the truck from Wakaba that he was going to do the negotiating.

“Good day, madame,” Nino said in some grand voice. It took everything Sho had not to laugh at him.

The woman, with long black hair and a blank look on her face, stared at him. “May I help you gentlemen?”

“I understand he may be busy, but we were hoping to secure an appointment with Ikuta-san today,” Nino said, confidence through the roof. He rather roughly wrapped an arm around Sho, giving him a tiny shake. “We have someone here I think he’d like to meet.”

The woman stared at Sho, and she sighed in irritation. “The reward, huh?”

“You recognize me?” Sho asked, his voice squeaking a bit in nervousness.

“No,” the woman said plainly. ‘Yoshitaka Yuriko,’ the nameplate on her desk read. Yoshitaka-san gestured to the door they’d come through. “Perhaps you missed the sign. From your accents, you don’t sound…local.”

Nino turned, jerking his head for Jun to check the door. He found a sign there, and to Sho’s surprise, Jun simply yanked it off, anger in his eyes as he set it down before him and Nino.

**The Office of His Majesty’s Chief of Staff Takes Fraud Seriously  
Due to Repeated Instances of Insensitivity and Greed  
Impersonators of the “Sakurai Royal Family of Minato” Will Now Be Turned Away  
Until Further Notice  
No Exceptions**

Jun could barely speak. “Nino…Nino, we can’t…”

Nino practically leaned over the desk, turning on his most winning smile. “Ah, Yoshitaka-san is it? Lovely. How very lovely…listen here, if my accent is tripping you up. We’ve brought the real deal, just in time for the coronation. Sakurai Sho! Here he is!”

Sho said nothing, receiving another blank stare from Yoshitaka. Finally, she spoke again.

“If you do not vacate the premises immediately, I’ll have no choice but to call security to remove you. The capital is already on high alert, and it is unlikely you’ll be cleared for release from Maku East for at least a month. Maku East being the largest prison in the capital.”

“Yoshitaka-san!” Nino protested, “let’s not get off on the wrong foot here. I completely understand that many less-than-savory individuals have probably come here, hoping to trick you and your boss, and heaven forbid, our beloved future king. But let me assure you that…”

“I do not require your assurances, sir,” Yoshitaka continued. “We stand by the policy posted on the door. The policy you have already vandalized in ripping it down.”

Nino tried again. “We’ve come all the way from Keio, Yoshitaka-san.”

“And others have come from Kansai. From Ezo and Seto and Chinzei,” Yoshitaka said. “I don’t care if you wandered in from the next street over. Ikuta-san has more important things to do than listen to your lies.”

“They aren’t lies,” Jun interrupted, shoving his way forward and nearly knocking Nino out of the way. “I can prove it.”

“No exceptions,” Yoshitaka said, rising from her desk. Sho assumed she was heading to find someone who could haul them all to jail, a grand finale for their perilous journey.

“Sho-kun,” Jun pleaded with him, grabbing hold of him. There was desperation, fervor in his eyes that made his mouth go dry. “Sho-kun, tell her who you are!”

The office door to the rear of the room opened with a bang, revealing a man about their age who looked like he hadn’t slept in a month. He was tall and slim, midway through a cigarette. “Yuriko, I said I wasn’t to be disturbed.”

Yoshitaka-san paled, inclining her head. “I’m sorry. I was just asking these gentlemen to leave.”

Before the man could say another word, Jun was pushing Sho forward, so hard Sho almost cried out in pain. Jun had forgotten his shoulder, so desperate was he for this plan to work. “Ikuta-san. You’re Ikuta-san? Please, I beg you, listen to him.”

Ikuta narrowed his eyes, and Sho felt the man’s scrutiny from head to toe. “A Sakurai Sho impersonator? You’ve got guts, don’t you?”

“He really is Sakurai Sho,” Jun continued. Even Nino had quieted down, let Jun take over. “I worked in Mita Palace, then at Sakura House. I can verify that this man is Sakurai Sho.”

Ikuta barked out a bitter laugh. “I know everything there is to know. Comes with the job. Nobody who worked for the Sakurai family lived.”

“I could draw the palace for you. I could tell you what it looked like in Sakura House,” Jun pleaded.

Ikuta waved his hand. “And so could anyone who gained access to Minato’s archives. No deal. Look, I’m sure you’ve got the same sob story as all the rest. Traveled here for weeks, overcame danger. You can rattle off a few dozen names that anyone could get out of a guidebook to the Minato aristocracy. You know that Princess Eriko had a large mole to the side of her left eye. You know that Queen Kanako was allergic to peanuts. I have heard every excuse, every justification, every little fact, every fucking lie.”

The three of them stood their ground even as Ikuta approached, pointing his finger at Sho with anger in his eyes.

“I’m the one that has to listen to this bullshit over and over again. I’ve taken that on and you know why? It’s to keep him from having his heart ripped out each and every time.” Ikuta dropped his cigarette to the floor, crushing it under his shoe. Suddenly, Sho was really happy that Masaki had a man like Ikuta on his side. “I don’t know what you people get out of this, I really don’t. He’s wealthy and he has a big heart, so he’s got a target on his back. They think it’s easy money, tricking a prince. But those were people who got killed. That was his _family_ that was killed, and to you I say again - no deal.”

“Ask him something,” Jun begged. “Ask him something that’s not in a guidebook. Where all those others have slipped up, he won’t.”

“In the last month alone, I have turned away twenty-three Princess Eriko wannabes,” Ikuta said. “Ten teenagers claiming to be Sakurai Ryota, who hid under his mother’s skirts when they were shot at and then fled in the snow despite being barely five years old. A Queen Kanako who had a family heirloom as proof, a necklace that had probably been ripped from her bullet-ridden body by an opportunistic soldier.”

Sho felt lightheaded, reaching out a hand to hold onto a desk in the office. “They took her jewelry months before she died…she had nothing on her. Please, don’t…don’t speak of her like that…”

“Yoshimo-chan?” Nino asked, by his side and squeezing his arm. “You okay?”

Ikuta sighed. “You alright? Look, if you just leave quietly, I won’t have you thrown in jail. Please, the coronation is in a few days and the prince is more stressed than you can possibly imagine.”

Sho nodded, his head aching. “I wouldn’t want to cause him any more grief…”

But Jun wasn’t taking no for an answer. His grip tightened on Sho until he finally did moan a bit in pain. Jun didn’t notice. “Ask him something. You’ve got to have something to ask him!”

“Jun-kun, stop it,” Nino hissed.

“ASK HIM SOMETHING!” Jun shouted, making Yoshitaka back away from her desk and hurry from the room. Well, she was definitely getting security now. 

Sho could barely stay standing, between Jun’s tight grip and the soulless manner Ikuta had in describing what had happened at Sakura House. Sho could feel it again, the scene from fifteen years of nightmares, being on the other side of the wall. He could feel it again, his hand pressed there but unable to do anything. Unable to help them. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, that he got to live and they hadn’t…

Ikuta approached warily. “Back off,” he said to Jun, who reluctantly let go. When Sho nearly fell, it was Nino and Ikuta who had to keep him upright. Jun, finally realizing how hysterical he’d become, looked mortified.

“Sho-kun…oh god, Sho-kun, I’m sorry.”

“Stop.” Ikuta’s voice was firm, final. He turned to Sho with a bit more sympathy to his voice. “I have a letter in my office. Prince Masaki gave it to me. It’s a letter Sakurai Sho wrote to him, just before he was moved to Sakura House.”

“He kept them?” Sho asked, trying not to fall back into his memories. “He kept my letters?”

“You can quit the dramatic acting,” Ikuta said. “I’ll read the letter to you, and if you can fill in what I don’t say, then maybe I’ll talk to you. The real Sakurai Sho would know these things, wouldn’t he? But if you can’t, then you need to leave.”

While Ikuta went back to his office, Nino got Sho into a chair, grabbing a file folder from one of the desks and fanning him with it. When Jun tried to come close, Nino pointed at him. “You’ve done enough. Let him fucking breathe, Jun.”

“Sho-kun,” Jun murmured, collapsing into a chair at another empty desk, guilt written plainly on his face.

Ikuta returned, and Sho recognized the envelopes, his handwriting on them. Gently, Ikuta opened one of the letters. It was in pretty bad shape, as though the person who’d received it had unfolded it and refolded it, reading it again and again and again. Ikuta started to read:

“Masaki. It is my sincerest hope that this letter finds you well and your parents too. It’s taken me some time to write to you again, as they are watching us closely here at the palace. That my letters seem to be making it to you without being opened or censored first does give me the slightest amount of hope. If they’re letting them get through unhindered, it’s clear they do not wish to provoke Chiba into any sort of conflict. Minato is falling apart all around us, and there are whispers that something is about to happen. We don’t know what exactly. Maybe we are being moved. Many of the noble families here have left the country and some others are being detained or put in prison. Perhaps we will go to prison as well. I appreciate all you have done to try and do something about this situation. But I fear if your father does not act quickly that something truly terrible may happen.”

Sho had his eyes closed, remembering so easily how he’d sat at his desk, putting words to paper. But then Nino was speaking and Ikuta had stopped.

“Sakurai Sho wrote that fifteen years ago,” Nino was protesting. “You’re honestly going to turn us away if he can’t recreate verbatim something he wrote when he was still a kid?”

Sho held up a hand, keeping his eyes shut. “I’m not sure if this was how I phrased it, but I went on to say something like…at the very least, I would ask that you consider Eri and Ryota. I would have written ‘Eri’ back then, not Eriko. That…that uh, Ryota has not been to Keikarou Palace, but he loves plants and green things, so the palace grounds would be a good place for him.”

He felt Nino’s hand squeeze his arm, encouraging him.

“I wrote that he should try to get his mother, my aunt, on his side because Masaki’s mother and my mother are…were sisters.” The more he spoke, the stronger his memories became. He could even feel the pen in his hand. “I said that we all loved Chiba so much, the whole family, and that we wouldn’t have to be royal if we moved here. Bear with me, I was seventeen when I wrote this. I said that maybe we could all live together, the five of us, in a smaller house. I told Masaki that we would live in a houseboat in the canal if it meant we could sometimes dock at Royal Isle and…”

Ikuta cleared his throat. Sho opened his eyes, breathing heavily, on the verge of tears. Ikuta set the letter down on the desk. It was all there. Eri. Ryota and the plants. The message meant for Queen Yuko. Even the houseboat. All of it.

“The prince claims that this letter arrived totally sealed, the wax undisturbed, that he was the first person to open it all those years ago,” Ikuta admitted. “But there are people skilled in this sort of thing, criminal elements.”

Nino had the letter in hand, was reading it in disbelief. He was “criminal elements,” after all. “But this letter’s been here all this time so they’d have had to see the original before it was sent to Chiba. You think some crook’s going to remember something like this, these kinds of details, from all those years back?”

“I have to be absolutely sure,” Ikuta said, looking at Sho with a lot more sympathy now. “You understand, can’t you?”

Sho nodded.

Yoshitaka returned then with a large group of soldiers toting rifles. Ikuta held up a hand. “Stand down, stand down, it’s okay.”

“Ikuta-san,” the soldier in front said. “If these people are threatening you…”

“They’re not. But go outside and guard this office. Nobody comes in or out until I’m done speaking with this man.”

Sho was then instructed to follow Ikuta into his office alone. Jun and Nino remained out in the main room, so as not to influence any of Sho’s responses. Ikuta, exhausted but determined, sat Sho down on his couch and sat across from him.

He asked Sho questions rapid fire. The expected dates, places, names. Slowly things grew more complex. What did Sakurai Sho call Aiba Masaki as children? Masa-kun. What did Sakurai Eriko call him? Sho smiled, replying with what he knew in his heart was correct. “Prince Chiba-chan.”

Over the next hour, Ikuta didn’t even write things down. There were more nicknames, more letters, conversations at dinners from twenty years ago, all these things that Masaki had told Ikuta in the strictest confidence in hopes of weeding out people attempting to deceive him. Ikuta never said if he was right or wrong, he just moved on to the next question. Sho wondered if Ikuta wanted him to trip up at some point or not.

“Okay,” Ikuta finally said. “Here’s something we always ask. The answers are always different, and we really have no idea what to believe. Because honestly, we don’t know. Forgive me for asking this, but how did it all happen? That night at Sakura House?”

He explained it all, everything he could remember. He told Ikuta what was still fuzzy (his escape) and what wasn’t (waking up in Kamezuka as Yoshimoto Koya). He told Ikuta that one of the soldiers had been a Loyalist, assigned to get him out of Sakura House. He told Ikuta how he was on one side of the wall while his parents and siblings were on the other. He told Ikuta that the other soldiers wanted to wait until all of them were together, but that he was missing. He hadn’t been. He’d just been on the other side of the wall, the Loyalist soldier clamping his hand over Sho’s mouth.

There’d been the gunshots, so many gunshots. 

He named the soldiers, their ranks. He named the handful of servants who’d been there, including Matsumoto Hana and her son Jun. He explained it all and when he was finished, Ikuta Toma was sitting there, sorrowful. The man got up, opening his desk drawer and retrieving a black-and-white photograph. It was the grounds of Mita Palace, from one of the few times King Masayoshi, Queen Yuko, and Masaki had visited. In the photograph, he and Masaki were about eleven years old, showing off some butterflies that they’d caught in a net in the palace gardens. Ikuta let him have the photo.

“Your Highness,” Ikuta said, bowing his head low to him. “I am going to do everything in my power to ensure that you are reunited with your family.”

**—**

Midori Hotel  
Maku-Harihongo, Kingdom of Chiba

Their rooms were connected by an interior door, and Nino had it wide open, running back and forth between the two with a childlike enthusiasm. It was hard not to be enthusiastic. Jun’s hotel room on its own was larger than their entire apartment had been in Keio.

Finally Nino grew tired, collapsing onto the massive bed in the center of his room with a gleeful giggle. Jun headed on through, checking the view from Nino’s windows. It wasn’t too different from his own. The top floor of the Midori Hotel along the Boulevard Queen Yuko, one of the most expensive patches of real estate in Maku-Harihongo, ought to have been booked solid for the coronation. Somehow, Nino and Jun had been placed here.

After Sho had disappeared into that room with Ikuta, Jun had been distraught over how he’d behaved. He’d been rough and demanding, insensitive and coarse. He’d been rude to Ikuta and his secretary. He’d caused Sho unnecessary pain. Despite that, Ikuta hadn’t turned them away. Ikuta had listened to Sho, and then things had moved so quickly, Jun was still reeling from it.

Without even getting a chance to say goodbye, Ikuta had royal guardsmen whisk Sho off somewhere, presumably to accommodations on Royal Isle. Ikuta had made several telephone calls and within the hour, Jun and Nino had been put up at the Midori Hotel at no cost. They were under strict orders not to leave. When Nino asked when they could speak with Sho again, the soldiers who escorted them had no answer to give. All that probably remained was the delivery of their reward.

“He’s fine, you know,” Nino said, watching Jun from the bed as he stared out the window. “If you think this place is fancy, I can only imagine the kind of place they’re stashing Yoshimo-chan.”

Jun was shaken. He hadn’t even gotten to properly apologize to Sho for how he behaved, and now they’d been separated. Presumably, Ikuta was looking for a spot in Prince Masaki’s schedule, to find a way for the man to reunite with Sho before the coronation. “It’s strange now,” Jun admitted. “Without him.”

“You trained him well, Jun-kun.”

“That was all him,” Jun said. “All of that was his memories. I didn’t teach him any of that. I never knew what he wrote in those letters.”

“If we’d brought a fake,” Nino said, “we would have been out of luck.”

“We’d have never made it this far with a fake,” Jun admitted. 

Nino smiled. “So much for our scam of the century. In the end, we’re heroes, huh?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” He turned, leaning against the windowsill. “You still did this for the money.”

“And you didn’t?” Nino asked, chuckling. “I wonder how they’ll do it. Banknotes, jewels, gold bars. Trapped in here, I can’t exactly run down the street to the Chiba National Bank and open an account to store all my gold.”

“I suppose a few nights’ accommodations in a place like this is worth waiting for your full reward?”

“What do you mean _my_ full reward?” Nino answered. “We’re both going to be set for life.”

He looked down, shaking his head. “I don’t know…”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know if I should take it,” Jun admitted. 

This got Nino’s attention. He was off the bed in seconds, hurrying to Jun’s side. “You have to take it. Jun, we didn’t come all this way to tell Prince Masaki thanks, but no thanks. You earned it. You hear me? You earned it. After the train, after you nearly fucking drowned in that river…”

Jun interrupted him. “And what about the people who really got us here? Okada-san, Miyazaki-san, the truck we stole in the borderlands.” He shut his eyes. “Satoshi…”

“Yoshimo-chan will tell the prince all about that. They’ll be compensated, I’m sure. Yoshimo-chan, he’s as much of a bleeding heart as you are. This isn’t for you to worry about now.”

“Maybe it should be.”

He’d had plenty of time to think, all those hours on foot. All those hours bouncing around in Okada-san’s cabbage truck. As far as the press in Chiba knew, the most recent coup in Minato had been much more peaceful than the ones that had come before it. But stability was not a concept Minato had known for so many years. Even when one general held onto power for years, there was still so much poverty. So much uncertainty. Currency inflation, pitiful wages, never enough food for everyone. People crowded into housing blocks they could barely afford, desperate for something better. 

Jun was nobody, in the end. Ex-servant, ex-soldier, ex-delivery man. But he was someone who would soon know a wealth he could barely comprehend. Few others from Minato would ever be given such a major opportunity. Not necessarily an opportunity to fix all of the country’s problems, but the opportunity to at least try. He couldn’t do anything, though, until he met with the prince and discovered how much helping Sho was really worth.

Stuck in the hotel, he and Nino headed downstairs to dine in the Midori Hotel’s grand restaurant. The reality of the country they’d just escaped followed them. Nino had only the rumpled suit that had managed to come with them all the way from Keio. Jun, who’d dropped two bags along the way, was in clothes that weren’t his. The glasses that weren’t quite right, a suit jacket that was too tight, slacks that were a bit too short.

Around them, Chiba’s wealthiest politely ignored them, dining on steak and caviar, drinking bottles of wine that probably cost the same as a month’s rent in Keio. Though their meals were included thanks to Ikuta-san’s generosity, he and Nino chose simple fare. A rice bowl with chicken and egg for Jun, a hamburger steak and sauce for Nino. Despite all his bragging about his wealthy lifestyle to come, Nino didn’t yet have the courage to act on it here.

They were leaving the restaurant, heading through the ornate lobby for the lifts when the concierge at the front desk waved for their attention.

“Matsumoto-san, Ninomiya-san,” the concierge said, bowing his head. “This just arrived for you.”

The concierge seemed to be in awe. No wonder, Jun realized, seeing the same Aiba family crest on the sealed envelope that they’d seen throughout Chiba. Nino asked for a letter opener, slicing the thing open to pull out the letter within. They headed over together to a more secluded part of the lobby, hiding behind some elaborate flower arrangement.

“It’s from Ikuta,” Nino said. Then his face showed genuine surprise. “From Ikuta, but he says the following are the dictated words of His Royal Majesty, Aiba Masaki of the Kingdom of Chiba.”

“He knows? He knows that Sho is alive?”

Nino nodded. “Let’s see. Dear sirs…wow, that’s new to me.” Nino kept reading. “‘Dear sirs, I have been informed that I owe the two of you an incredible debt. I reunite tomorrow morning with my cousin, and after fifteen long years of sorrow, I will at last know some measure of peace. You have chosen a rather busy week to visit, so I must apologize for the abruptness of the following. You will come and see me tomorrow at 4:00 PM promptly so we might discuss the matter of your compensation. If you cannot attend, Ikuta-san will have to see about your money when he has time.’” 

Jun was surprised when Nino laughed.

“What? What did he say?”

“No, it’s just that Ikuta wrote something in the margin. He wrote that ‘I am accompanying His Royal Majesty on his tour of the country. Unless you wish to be paid six months from now, you’d better show up tomorrow.’”

Jun snorted. “Interesting country.”

Nino got back to Prince Masaki’s words. “‘I look forward to making your acquaintance tomorrow, sirs. I’m also in the middle of rehearsing for my coronation speech, so if my attention wavers, it’s not meant as a slight. Thank you again for bringing Minato’s Crown Prince back to his family.’”

Jun smiled. “Sounds like a strange guy.”

They returned to their rooms for the night, Nino closing and locking the door that connected them to offer Jun some privacy. He didn’t bother lighting the lamps, loosening his tie and tossing it onto a bureau of drawers. Peeking down from his fancy window, he still saw members of the royal guard patrolling the front of the hotel. Ikuta was truly serious about them not leaving. Jun suspected there were soldiers at the rear exit as well.

Taking his chances, Jun left his suit jacket, untucking his dress shirt to be more comfortable as he left his room, pocketing the key. At the end of the carpeted hallway there was a door to the roof, and he was happy to find it unlocked. The last thing he wanted to do was pick a lock in a hotel that the future king of Chiba was paying for. He took the iron spiral staircase up, relishing the crisp chill of the night air as he stepped out onto the roof.

They were on the Harihongo side of the canal. The city was lit up with the help of electricity, ornate street lights stretching in either direction along the Boulevard Queen Yuko. The cherry blossom trees were on the cusp of full bloom, perfuming the air with their light, fragrant scent even this many stories up. Motorcars and taxis sputtered along, the sounds of engines occasionally joined by a honking horn. Jun’s shoes scuffed along the pebbles scattered along the flat roof of the hotel as he walked the perimeter, taking in the view from all angles. The letters “MIDORI HOTEL” were spelled out in large neon green atop the hotel, each letter sturdily bolted to the roof and as tall as two grown men put together. Jun had a seat on the ledge behind the D, peeking through the center and out across the capital.

All along the canal, small commercial boats puttered along even at the late hour. Tourist boats and pleasure cruisers joined them. Squinting out to one of the lit-up long boats, he could see revelers toasting with wine as they leisurely sailed beneath Royal Bridge. Royal Isle sat beyond, and from up high he could see the palace grounds better. He’d never traveled with the family on visits here, but Sho had always come back to Mita Palace sounding the slightest bit jealous of his cousin’s home.

The darkness mostly hid what seemed like a massive grove of trees and manicured lawns that surrounded the palace. Keikarou Palace sat at the center, two stories tall with a central structure surrounded by a few wings extending in each cardinal direction. It was still lit up, a collection of bright lights in the middle of the darkened trees. Was Sho in there? Jun imagined he was. Jun actually hoped he was. They’d watched Mita Palace be destroyed right in front of them, but Keikarou Palace wasn’t going anywhere. The Aiba family wasn’t going anywhere.

Tomorrow was an important day, as much for Nino and Jun as it was for Sho. In the morning, according to the prince’s letter, the cousins would officially be reunited. Jun couldn’t help smiling, happy for Sho. Jun, he’d only had his mother as a child, but she’d been raised here in Chiba. Perhaps with Ikuta-san’s help he could find his mother’s family. Perhaps like Sho he had cousins, aunts, and uncles in Maku-Harihongo as well. He wouldn’t want to impose on strangers, of course, but after coming all this way, maybe it was worth trying to at least meet them.

Sho would have a place here. He could be with his family, with people who would treat him kindly. Sho had grown up in splendor, with fine clothing and rich food and with people at his beck and call. After years sleeping under a staircase, forgotten and lonely, he could get back to the life he’d been born to, the respect he deserved. And Jun knew that while Maku-Harihongo had a place for Sakurai Sho, it didn’t really have a place for Matsumoto Jun.

He’d accomplished the task that had been set out for him all those years ago, of seeing Sho brought to the people who could keep him safe. As a servant, he had done his job. As Sho’s friend, he had done his job. But Jun was a realistic person. He had no place in a palace anymore. He hadn’t been in service for years, and he had little desire to return to carrying trays and polishing silver.

And even if he found employment here, a place to live here, there was little possibility of their lives intertwining again. Sho would make friends with Prince Masaki’s friends, would mingle with courtiers. Whether he was announced to be the surviving Crown Prince of Minato or if Prince Masaki had him introduced under an alias to protect him, Sho would never have to struggle again. Sho would never have to suffer again. His injuries, perhaps the doctors in Chiba could find a more permanent solution. Something more than a jar of pain cream. 

Feelings aside, Jun knew he had outlived his usefulness to Sho.

But what he hadn’t outlived was his usefulness to Minato. He sat there on the roof of the hotel, shivering a little but his mind alive with ideas, with possibilities. The sound from Boulevard Queen Yuko, from the boats on the canal, became nothing more than background noise. He knew what he had to do. He would benefit best from Prince Masaki’s help, but if he didn’t get it, he’d try anyway. He was thrilled to at last have a plan, a future, a new cause worth fighting for. 

Jun would not cry from the loss of Sho. Jun would instead fight in Sho’s name to help the citizens of Minato. It would be difficult. It would be dangerous. But someone had to try, so why couldn’t that someone be him?


	8. Chapter 8

**—then—**

Sakura House  
Near Gunma Town, Kingdom of Minato

Each day that slips away here is a reminder of how meaningless has life has become. He hates the uncertainty, the lack of information. He hates how closely he’s being watched, as if the guards are looking for him to screw up in some way.

Most of the time it’s one of the guards taking Yama out for exercise now, Sho helping the groom to muck out the stables, the only interaction with his own damn horse coming after she’s already been ridden, brushing her and feeding her. He wishes again and again that he could put his sister and brother on Yama, could slap the horse’s rump and send them racing off to Chiba.

His parents have visibly aged since they’ve been shut away here. There are streaks of gray in his mother’s hair, wrinkles of worry developing on her face. She’d been called the fairest of her generation, or at least that’s what his father’s always said. He’s always been rather biased in that regard. His father has lost weight, possesses little of his old strength and vigor. Sho knows that his parents loved each other once, very deeply. But now as the months pass here and the guards grow more snotty and disrespectful in their boredom, Sho is convinced that his mother blames his father for what has happened. Sho is convinced that his mother will worry herself to death knowing that her children are trapped here with them.

Hana-san has always been able to comfort his mother. She is the lifeline that keeps his mother present in the day to day. Where at first Sho’s mother took to the country lifestyle of the exile with quiet amusement and determination, she now struggles. What’s the point in patching up that shirt? Sho, finally growing a little taller, will find a way to tear it again somehow, lose a button. What’s the point in dressing for dinner? They’ve taken away her cosmetics, sold her jewels. Sho finds any excuse to avoid the parlor. His mother spends most of the day in there, sitting there in just one sad little room chiding Eriko about her stitches.

With each day that passes, the knots tightening around them all, Sho finds himself pulling back from Jun. He thinks about the stables, the day Jun tried to pass him a note. If he gets Jun in trouble, if he gets Jun sent away to who knows where, he’ll never be able to live with himself. If the guards ever find out about them, about what happened before and what they’ve shared in scarce, stolen moments here at Sakura House, it’ll be terrible. He just knows it’ll be terrible.

He doesn’t know how to tell Jun to back off. He doesn’t think he can form the words. If he tries to speak them, he’ll change his mind, and that doesn’t help Jun to stay alive here. He settles back into his old habits, hoping Jun takes the hint. When Jun slips notes under his door during the night, Sho ignores them. When Jun tries to meet his eyes in the halls, Sho looks the other way. 

And it aches to do it, it leaves him feeling empty and hollow, turning away from the best and only friend he’s ever had. The person who means so much more to him than he can explain. If the guards think Jun is just a servant, he’ll be fine. After all it’s a workers’ revolution, and Jun is no different from any other Minato commoner.

He’s about a month into his self-imposed distancing from Jun when Hana-san asks to see him one morning. She still bows to all of them as though they’re royal, even little Ryota, and it makes Sho worry for her too. “He misses you,” Hana-san declares boldly.

Sho shuts his eyes, not really in the mood to be lectured by a servant when the woman ought to be smart enough to know what he’s doing is the wisest course of action. The country’s grievance is with his family, not with their servants. “We cannot meet privately this way, Hana-san,” he replies weakly.

“He idolizes you,” Hana-san pleads with him. 

“He shouldn’t,” Sho says.

“He doesn’t understand.”

“They report back on us,” Sho finally explains. “The guards. The more I talk to him, the more it may be used against us.” And Sho knows that given enough time alone in Jun’s company, he’d end up guilty of far more than talking.

“You believe that?”

“I know it to be true,” Sho replies, remembering Lieutenant Kimura’s words of warning.

“I know you care for him,” Hana says, and when Sho looks at her, his cheeks burn in embarrassment to see the knowing look in her eyes. “And you are a young man of bravery and courage, putting your happiness aside, wishing to keep him from harm.”

“Hana-san, that’s not…”

“But I am his mother, and it is my duty to protect him. Not yours.”

Sho crosses his arms. “Hana-san…”

She takes a step toward him, and he sees a strength in her brown eyes that reminds him so much of Jun. “This country is falling into darkness. Every day trapped here I’ve been watching you all, seeing the darkness creep into your lives. Watching it slowly take possession of you. I haven’t seen Her Majesty smile in weeks. But there’s still light left, Your Highness. Even the smallest light, even the smallest hope is worth clinging to. And I know that my son is that light for you.”

“You are mistaken,” he mumbles, looking away from her so she can’t see him cry. He’s been out of the palace nursery for many, many years now. 

But somehow he doesn’t push her away when she wraps her arms around him, holding him with a steadiness that he wishes he had. He cries as quietly as he can, knowing his burden is one he can’t tell his own mother about. 

“I wish it wasn’t like this,” he tells her.

“I know,” she murmurs, stroking his hair. 

The next day Sho slips a note between dinner plates, since Jun is the one who sets the table. It says only “I’m sorry,” but the next time they pass in the corridor, Jun smiles and Sho smiles back.

Hana-san’s told him that even the smallest light is worth clinging to. Seeing Jun’s smile, Sho decides to cling.

**—now—**

Keikarou Palace  
Maku-Harihongo, Kingdom of Chiba

Queen Yuko held his hand, blinking away tears. “We will see you again for dinner?”

“Aunt Yuko, I’ll come running.”

She smiled, shaking her head and chuckling quietly. “Too charming, Minato boys. Your father was this way.”

“I learned from the best then.”

The Queen and her small gaggle of ladies-in-waiting left him alone on the main lawn to the west of the palace. The open-top motorcar they’d ridden in all morning was already being driven back to the garage. Sho hadn’t been in a motorcar in more than fifteen years. The slow farmers’ trucks he’d been inside lately couldn’t compete with the speed of a top of the line roadster. It had been a bizarre and yet thrilling experience, the Queen having ordered her driver to take them all over the capital, to let Sho see what changes had occurred since his last visit so long ago.

With his cousin booked nearly every second of the day finalizing staffing appointments, rehearsing his speeches, and reviewing security for the coronation parade and ball, they hadn’t been reunited yet. The outgoing king, his Uncle Masayoshi, and his Aunt Yuko had decided to meet with him first, once Masaki had given the go ahead based on whatever Ikuta-san had told him. They’d needed little convincing. On sight, they’d just known it was him somehow. Having his father’s face, his mother’s nose, they’d helped too.

It had been awkward, dining privately with his aunt and uncle the evening before, dredging up everything all over again and explaining the circumstances that had managed to bring him all the way to the capital of Chiba. The more Sho spoke, about the memories he’d lost and regained, about the current state of affairs in Keio, the more tired he had grown. 

Because to them, it was all just an unpleasant past. All of that was behind him now, his uncle had asserted. Sho had forced himself to meet the man’s eyes, to smile even though his uncle had done nothing to help back then. Sitting in the splendor of Keikarou Palace, with its sumptuous decorations, the finely crafted furniture, the multi-course meals served on china…it was the life that had been stolen away from him. A life that seemed entirely unnecessary to him now, a life of far too much indulgence.

Sitting with them and having a fine meal, it had felt wrong. Driving leisurely around Maku-Harihongo and checking all the tourist spots, it had felt wrong. He ought to be grateful. They’d given him the same guest rooms in the palace that he’d stayed in as a boy, a handful of chambers in the east wing of the palace that had a fine view of the flower gardens that stretched almost to the trees and the canal beyond. They’d already brought a tailor to him, having him fitted for a suit to wear to the coronation and a tuxedo to wear to the ball, though it would be Masaki’s decision what role Sho might have to play in those events. 

The last few months of Sho’s life, all he’d known was the journey. Struggling in Keio, the painful experience of his memories flooding back, the challenge of escaping the train and getting to Maku-Harihongo. Now he was here, and as Nino had predicted all along, they’d accepted him, and along with that, they were pampering him. Even with the hustle and bustle around Keikarou Palace, Sho couldn’t help but feel that there were more important things to worry about. Minato, its impoverished people, a country that needed help.

He headed inside. The staff hadn’t been told who he was other than a “very special guest of the king-to-be and his family,” though he suspected that a few of the older members of the staff had a good idea. Being good servants, their whisperings wouldn’t make it over Royal Bridge, at least not yet. Ikuta had assured him of that. They inclined their heads to him anyway, and though Sho had been treated that way for almost the first eighteen years of his life, it felt foreign to experience now after so many years being nobody special at all.

Ikuta, who had at least half a dozen staffers trailing him, found Sho when he was halfway up the stairs heading to the east wing. “Ah, there you are! Her Majesty said you were back. Come, come, it’s time.”

The night before, that morning in the motorcar, he’d settled into conversation with his aunt and uncle because it was something he’d been raised from birth to do, to be polite and chat amiably regardless of feeling. With Masaki, he knew it would be different. Because all this time, Masaki had been the one wishing most for his return. He maintained his composure, following Ikuta to the almost King’s suite of offices on the ground floor. He had already been moved in weeks earlier at his father’s insistence, to grow accustomed to the space being his own.

Ikuta knocked and entered first, but he was back quickly. “Your audience will remain private at His Majesty’s request.” Ikuta held the door for him, and Sho took a deep breath. They’d missed so much of one another’s lives. All Sho had to go on was his memories and the portraits of Masaki hanging in the halls of Keikarou Palace.

Ikuta shut the door behind him, and Sho stood shyly beside a bookshelf, waiting for the man at the writing desk to acknowledge him. He couldn’t help smiling, seeing that Masaki had truly grown up. His hair was still a bit of a frazzled mess, and his foot was tapping nervously under the desk as he scribbled down some notes, mumbling to himself. But then he looked up.

He was a man grown, with tired eyes that spoke of a life already given over to rule, to the governing of his people. But his smile was the same childish flash of teeth when he popped up from his chair, knocking it over in nervous excitement. “Sho-chan!”

Sho felt tears of happiness sting his eyes. As Yoshimoto Koya, he’d been all set to lie to him. How could he have ever considered something so callous, so cruel? As Sakurai Sho, he moved forward, doing his best to conceal the pain in his shoulder, the weakness in his foot. Masaki nearly knocked him down, embracing him as though he half expected Sho to vanish if he didn’t.

“Sho-chan, it’s you. It’s really you. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to say!”

He wrapped his arms around his cousin, chuckling. “Shouldn’t you do a final test? To ensure I’m really me?”

Masaki squeezed him tighter. “Toma-kun came to me on his knees, apologizing for what he’d put you through. All those questions. He believed you, but he kept pestering until he’d done everything I’d asked. Just to be sure. And then my mother, well, I always trust what my mother says.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” Sho admitted. 

Masaki finally let him go, not embarrassed to let tears of his own roll down his cheeks. 

“Ahh, it really is you. You finally got taller.”

He scowled jokingly, and Masaki laughed, the same wheezing laugh he’d had as a kid.

“Yeah, it’s definitely you, Sho-chan.” His cousin moved, heading for a drink cart a few paces from his desk. He pulled the stopper from a bottle of clear liquid. “Can I get you anything? Well, uh, usually I’ve got liquor in these things, but I have to be one hundred percent sober to get all this stuff memorized. It’s just water now…”

“Water would be just fine,” Sho answered, grinning. Masaki the adult was still an odd fellow, but endearing as ever. Unlike with his aunt and uncle, he already felt so much at ease. Months ago, he’d have never imagined such a possibility, sitting in the private chambers of Aiba Masaki, who’d be crowned king tomorrow. 

Once Masaki had served him, they sat together on a sofa near a full row of bookshelves. For a while, Masaki just kind of stared at him, and Sho finally had to laugh at him.

“You’ve always been creepy,” Sho told him. He remembered the Masaki of childhood, who had no qualms about digging in the dirt to find worms, who always liked to whisper in Sho’s ear about what so-and-so servant’s breasts might look like.

“I’m sorry,” his cousin said, wiping his eyes. “Ahhh, but they’ve been telling me it’s foolish for so long. They told me it was foolish to consider that you might have lived.”

“Given the circumstances, I’d have come to the same conclusion. About it being foolish I mean.”

Masaki shook his head. “We asked,” he admitted. “After it happened, we did ask General Kitagawa’s government to produce the…well, to allow you to be transported here so we could bury you. They told us you’d all been buried at Sakura House. My father left it at that, not wanting to rock the boat. I…well, I don’t think I spoke to him for about a year…”

“Truly?”

Masaki nodded. “I was angry for so long, Sho-chan. And honestly, I still am.”

“There was nothing to be done.”

“I didn’t believe that then, I don’t believe it now. Hearing the rumors, offering the reward for any proof of a miracle…it’s consumed me for ages. To finally have you here, even knowing for certain now that you’re the only one I’ll get to meet again…I feel lighter. I feel grateful, so grateful to see you and know that you’re well.”

There was a strength to Masaki’s voice now that hadn’t been there when they were children. He’d been so uncertain then. Sho knew back then that he’d intimidated his cousin. He’d always been an overly confident child, merely counting down the days until Minato was his to control. But seeing the man Masaki had become, still full of humor and quirks but with purpose, dedication, devotion. He was ready for this, ready to rule. Sho could tell already, after only minutes reunited. They spent the next three hours catching up, interrupted only by the delivery of lunch - fresh shellfish, Sho’s favorite. 

Sho was so proud of all the things Chiba had accomplished, thanks to all these years of relative peace. Though Masaki’s father was fairly conservative, Masaki himself was not, investing most of his own money into projects to advance science, technology, and medicine. Chiba scientists were developing vaccines, discovering new means of producing energy. It was such a stark contrast from Minato, which had barely changed since his childhood.

Ikuta returned around 3:00, an impatient look in his face. It was Ikuta who really kept the country running, Masaki admitted, since he still had royal commitments like hosting fancy dinners that took him away from the “more important” things. “Your Majesty, there’s the matter of Sakurai-san’s…companions.”

Sho said nothing, suddenly consumed with the thought that Nino and Jun were close. Perhaps they’d been invited to the palace to be given their rewards. He wanted to see them, both of them, to know what their plans were.

“They’re not going to be here for another hour,” Masaki said dismissively, waving his hand. “I have to…I still have to…you know.”

Ikuta grinned. 

Sho looked at his cousin strangely. “What’s wrong?”

Masaki got to his feet, hands on his hips. “Sho-chan, tomorrow’s the coronation. And in three days, I’m getting on a train and leaving the capital. For a pretty damn long time. But we’ve only just met again.”

“I understand your obligations, Masaki, more than you realize.”

“That’s just it,” Masaki replied. “I have an obligation to you too. I’m not just going to leave you behind after all you went through to get here.”

Sho blinked. “Huh?”

“Toma-kun’s already making all the arrangements. You’re coming with me.”

“What?” But then it dawned on him, what his cousin’s rather spontaneous, slightly irrational plan was. “Wait, you’re not serious about this…”

“When that train leaves, you’re coming as my guest. Whether you come with as Sakurai Sho or under a false name, I’m not leaving you here. I want you to see my Chiba.”

The royal tour, as far as Sho understood it, would take months. Masaki was determined to visit every obscure corner of his beloved country, to greet as many of his subjects as humanly possible. Admittedly, Sho had given very little thought to what came next. With Masaki gone, he presumed he’d just stay in the capital, making decisions based on what Nino and Jun planned to do. If he traveled with Masaki, he wouldn’t see them for months.

God, he wouldn’t see Jun again for the better part of a year.

“This is a bit hasty,” Sho said weakly, heart racing in panic. Maybe Jun could come? Could he argue for that? He knew Nino was probably going to buy himself a fancy house and park himself in it, but what about Jun? What was Jun going to do?

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Masaki assured him. “It’s a big train, and you’ll get your own compartment, Toma-kun will see to everything…”

“That’s…that’s not it…”

“Your Majesty, we really must discuss the matter of compensation,” Ikuta insisted, and Masaki gave up.

“Sho-chan,” he said, “we’ll talk more later. It’ll be after midnight, but if you can stay up, we’ll discuss it. I really can’t wait to show you everything. We’ll have so much fun, I promise!”

Ikuta cleared his throat. “Your Majesty.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.”

Before Sho could protest any further, he was asked to leave. Before he could search the palace, to determine if Jun or Nino had arrived, his aunt and her ladies found him again. 

He plastered on a smile, even as his insides churned and his shoulder throbbed. “Aunt Yuko.”

“My darling!” she said, immediately linking arms with him. “I’ve been charged with decorating the ballroom for tomorrow evening, won’t you come and see the amazing things we’ve accomplished! Ma-kun is going to love it!”

He nodded, knowing he had little choice but to follow her. Things were happening way too fast. They headed for the ballroom, and Sho suddenly wanted nothing more than to escape.

**—**

Keikarou Palace  
Maku-Harihongo, Kingdom of Chiba

Nino had been inside Prince Masaki’s private offices for nearly half an hour now. Jun suspected he was trying to charm the man into giving him more than was necessary, and he couldn’t help smiling at the thought of Nino trying his best to manipulate a man who’d be crowned king come morning. 

It was a beautiful palace, though Jun had mostly been stuck in one place for his stay thus far. He was seated in an outside chamber full of desks and bookcases. Most likely a room where the future king’s staffers would work. A few men and women came in and out while Jun was sitting there, but none of them paid him any attention. 

The whole place was alive with activity. Caterers and florists and other staff racing to and fro. In such a large place, he had been naive to think that Sho would be so easily found. And he’d also been a bit naive to imagine Sho coming to greet him. He was probably busy already, since it was likely he’d get to participate in the parade following the coronation and would have some place at the ball. 

The door to the inner chamber opened, and Nino and Ikuta emerged. The two men were chuckling together, shaking hands. Their rudeness in his offices had apparently been forgiven. Jun got to his feet, tugging a little awkwardly on his suit jacket. He was still in borrowed clothes.

Nino stepped forward, squeezing his arm. “Ikuta-san already has his contacts in the Chiba State Department working on immigration papers. My parents, Jun. They’ll be able to come here soon.”

“That’s wonderful,” he replied, inclining his head to Ikuta.

“See you back at the hotel?” Nino asked. From the stunned look in Nino’s eyes, Jun imagined that the reward from Chiba’s royal treasury was larger than had been promised.

“Yeah. I’ll see you.”

A member of the royal guard appeared to escort Nino from the palace, and Ikuta held out a hand, gesturing him forward. “Matsumoto-san, your turn.”

He stepped into the chamber, seeing Aiba Masaki in the flesh. Jun barely remembered him, since he’d only come to Keio a few times and he’d been a shy boy. He and Sho had been very close, though, so he wasn’t surprised to see the bright smile on the prince’s face when he was escorted in.

Ikuta had a ledger in hand, was jotting down notes as he moved to the prince’s desk, standing just behind him. Jun wasn’t surprised to see the handful of royal guards who were also in the chamber. If Jun made any false moves, he wouldn’t get very far. Not that he planned anything of the sort.

He approached the desk, bowing low to the prince.

“Matsumoto Jun,” Ikuta said. “Former servant of the Sakurai family. He also served them at Sakura House in the final days.”

Jun was surprised when Prince Masaki rose from his chair and came around his desk. Jun had barely raised his head before the man was embracing him. “Thank you so much,” the man said, and Jun was stunned. Ikuta only grinned in reply, scribbling more down on his ledger. “Thank you for helping Sho-chan.”

“Of…of course, Your Majesty.” He tried not to smile at how affectionately the leader of a nation referred to Sho.

The prince released him, patting him on the shoulder before going back around to sit at his desk. “Sorry,” he said, “but I spent the last few hours talking with Sho-chan. I’m all worked up! He made it very clear how important you’ve always been to him. In the past and now, finding him and getting him all the way here. Thank you, truly, for everything you’ve done for him. And for everything you did for my aunt and uncle and my cousins. I understand that you were hardworking and loyal until the very end, even when it may not have been the easiest thing to do.”

“You’re very welcome, Your Majesty.”

He leaned forward, sorrow in his eyes. “Sho-chan said also that your mother was lost at Sakura House. You have my sincerest condolences.”

Jun held his head high, somewhat surprised that Sho had taken the time to tell Prince Masaki such things when he could have instead spoken of his own lost family. “Thank you.”

“Now,” Prince Masaki said, clearing his throat and getting down to business. “It’s incredibly vulgar, I suppose, to put a price tag on returning my cousin to me. Much as I might wish it, I can’t exactly empty my treasury, you know, but as a reward for your sacrifices and your kindnesses, I would still like to ensure that you are taken care of. Ninomiya-san suggested you be offered the lion’s share of everything…”

“He said _what_?” Jun exclaimed before remembering just who he was talking to. He bowed his head. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I meant no disrespect.”

Prince Masaki smiled. “Don’t worry about it. You can speak plainly to me here. Just not in public, alright?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Ninomiya-san said that you have been an essential person in Sho-chan’s life and that it is only fair that you be rewarded for it. I don’t know if it was a ploy for sympathy or something. He struck me as a rather wily character.”

Jun nodded his head, heart aching at the thought of Nino willingly asking to be given less. “He is very wily, Your Majesty.”

“As I suspected. Now, before Toma-kun and I discuss the full extent of the reward with you, if there is anything else you might require, don’t hesitate to ask. The worst I can do is say no. Ninomiya-san requested that his parents be allowed to immigrate here, and I’m happy to help. As you know, I’ll soon be touring Chiba, but there’s no shortage of ministers and staff here in Maku-Harihongo who will assist you on my orders.”

“Thank you. I…I have no other family, really, but my mother was originally from Chiba. She served as Queen Kanako’s maid from childhood. She never spoke much about what family she left behind here.”

“We’ll find them,” Prince Masaki replied instantly. He pointed at Ikuta. “You’ll see to it. Spare no expense.”

“Checking birth records doesn’t cost much,” Ikuta teased.

“Well if you find Grandma Matsumoto in Minamiboso, it’ll cost money to get her here, won’t it?”

Ikuta nodded. “It would, true.”

“Find them all.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Jun bit the inside of his cheek, desperate to keep to his plan. At least knowing he might have family to return to someday, that would be enough.

“Anything else?” 

Jun took a breath, meeting the prince’s eyes straight on. “I would like to decline the reward.”

“What?” the prince asked. “Why?”

“Whatever you would have given to me, I would rather see that money used for the benefit of Minato. There are specific people in Minato I want to see helped, and after that, I would request that Chiba provide ongoing support to Minato. It is a poor country, Your Majesty, one that has torn itself apart for far too long. A country that shares a border with your own for hundreds of miles and yet you sit here in this palace preparing for a grand celebration. Your people have food to eat, warm homes, well-paying jobs…”

“Matsumoto-san, you are out of line!” Ikuta interrupted.

“Meanwhile people in Keio are harassed and monitored by secret police. Basic necessities are strictly rationed and the rest obtained at outrageous costs on the black market. Families of ten are living in rooms meant for one person. Your people eat caviar like it’s rice. You can leave your own capital for months without fear while in Keio the newest usurper had government ministers and their aides assassinated on train cars full of civilians.”

“Matsumoto-san, you address the King of Chiba!” Ikuta continued, but this time Aiba Masaki held up his hand.

“I’m not the king yet.” He took a breath. “Toma. Leave us.”

“But Your Majesty…”

“I gave an order.” He met eyes with each of his personal guards. “You will all leave, right now.”

Despite how jovial the prince had been the last several minutes, his voice was firm and his eyes decisive.

“I know it is against protocol,” he continued, speaking to his guards. “But you will leave us. Matsumoto-san will not cause me harm. Go.”

In seconds, the two of them were alone. Prince Masaki leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. There was something different now, in the way he carried himself. Instead of the charming, smiling prince, Jun now realized he was in the presence of a clever politician. Jun wondered how much of Aiba Masaki’s behavior around his guards and advisors was genuine and how much was an act.

“Chiba is a neutral country, Matsumoto-san.”

“I know that.”

“You ask us to directly and openly provide aid to an unstable nation.”

“I do, yes.”

Aiba Masaki surprised him again, smiling. “Have a seat.” When Jun was sitting down, the prince leaned forward, his voice considerably quieter. “The method of regime change was not one I agreed with, but once I release funds, I cannot entirely control how they are used.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Higashiyama thought fear would keep Minato stable. He was mistaken. I’ve been in contact with one of the generals who led the coup. He sought my help personally. I provided it, knowing that my father was planning on stepping down and could not do anything to stop me.”

Jun was astonished. “You mean to say that what’s happening in Minato right now…you… _you_ intervened?”

“When this general officially comes to power, and he should very soon, talks will open between Minato and Chiba for the first time in decades. They will formally request Chiba’s assistance. For years, Minato believed that any intervention from my country would come at a cost. That Chiba would annex you or force you into our debt. Chiba wants to help.”

“How?”

“Science. Technology. Our achievements will help Minato stabilize. We will not send soldiers but doctors. Scientists. Engineers. Chiba will train Minato to build better. To farm better. To take better care of its people. It will not come that cheaply, and I do expect a bit of backlash here. Why else do you think I’m spending the next year going from door to door and meeting my subjects? It’s not just for a friendly chat. In my speech tomorrow, I cannot make any formal announcements yet, but once Minato is more stable, it’s going to happen and I will need my entire country behind me.”

Jun was hesitant. “Why would you do all this?”

“Politically, it’s to stabilize the region,” Prince Masaki admitted. “We wish for more trade with the nations to the west. Minato being a minefield between us and the west has prevented that. And then personally, for me, I believe Chiba has sat back getting fat and remaining indifferent to suffering for far too long, just as you said. We allowed the Western War to kill thousands. We allowed General Kitagawa to overthrow the monarchy. And my parents allowed our Minato family to be killed. Indirectly, Matsumoto-san, my parents are responsible for what happened to your mother as well.”

He paled. “I don’t hold you or them responsible…” It was General Kitagawa who was, and he was long dead.

“I’ve had fifteen long years to come to this conclusion,” the prince said, and Jun was moved by the determination in his eyes. “But it is rather remarkable that you’ve come to me now with such a request. Because what I need is help. I need eyes and ears in Minato. Not a spy, but someone to assist in the ongoing negotiations. Someone I can trust who supports this agenda as much as I do. I’m wondering now if perhaps you could be that person.”

Jun had come to ask to take his reward and funnel it into Minato as best he could. And now here was an incredible opportunity falling into his lap. It wouldn’t just be his reward money. It would be an ongoing thing. Minato might not ever be fully stable, but Chiba’s help would be an incredible step in the right direction.

“It would be an honor,” he said, unable to keep from smiling.

“I know you’ve only just arrived here and that getting here was truly dangerous. But with the craziness tomorrow with the coronation, I don’t think anyone’s going to pay much attention to a train headed for Keio. It’s loaded up with food, medicine, some other basic supplies as a gesture of goodwill. In exchange, General Kimura has promised complete immunity and protection for the train and my representatives…”

Jun couldn’t help but interrupt. “I’m sorry, General who?”

“Kimura,” Prince Masaki repeated. “General Kimura Takuya, my contact in Minato. He was a war hero, and he is the one who has sought our assistance. The task ahead of him isn’t easy, but he’s well-respected by both the army and the people. If there’s anyone in Minato who might make a difference, it’s him.”

He’d been there. At Sakura House. Kimura Takuya, hero of the Western War. For months, a smirking shadow in the corner, always watching them. Jun had polished his boots. Kimura Takuya had…

“Matsumoto-san, are you alright? Was it something I said?”

If this was the only way he’d be able to help Minato, help Ohno, help everyone who had gotten Sho to Chiba, then he supposed he had no choice. He didn’t dare tell Aiba Masaki about the role General Kimura, then Lieutenant Kimura, had played in the demise of the Sakurai family. 

“What time does the train leave tomorrow?” Jun asked, ignoring his pain and confusion. “I want a seat on board.”

**—then—**

Sakura House  
Near Gunma Town, Kingdom of Minato

A handful of soldiers had arrived from Keio that morning, and the entire house is in a confused sort of hush. The family’s been sequestered to the parlor, all five of them sitting around the rattling heater, since their arrival. Jun’s been in the chilly kitchen with his mother and Amami-san, Lieutenant Kimura keeping an eye on them. His mother and the lieutenant have been chatting quietly, but he’s been out of earshot. Whatever they’re discussing, they don’t mean for him to overhear.

Lieutenant Inohara is in the parlor with the family, so the remaining four guards have been meeting with the new arrivals elsewhere on the grounds. If he peeks out the kitchen window, he can see them gathered by the stables, their boots tromping in the snow, breaths visible in the winter air. Unlike the guards already here who merely carry pistols in a holster at their side, the new guards have rifles strapped to their backs. Amami-san thinks they’re replacements, that the current guards will be rotated out. It’s been a long assignment for them. General Kitagawa doesn’t want them getting too “comfortable” here.

It’s just after 1:00 when one of the new guards comes into the kitchen. “You may go about your day. Please see to it that dinner is made for my team as well. We’ll be staying.”

“Of course, sir,” Jun’s mother says, inclining her head.

Barely able to keep himself from running, Jun leaves the kitchen. Upon reaching the parlor, he finds only four members of the Sakurai family. “Nii-san went upstairs,” Eriko says.

“He’s studying,” Queen Kanako clarifies.

“Thank you.”

Jun decides to take the back stairs, holding his breath as he walks past some of the newer soldiers who are now trampling through the house in their wet, muddy boots. For once he doesn’t find any guards standing outside Sho’s door. Maybe some of the guards aren’t so keen to return to Keio yet. But he doesn’t care, tapping gently on the door with two fingers. It’s rare to get time with him alone.

“It’s me,” he says.

Sho opens the door. He’s got half a dozen books open on his desk behind him, taken from the family’s library downstairs. Most of the books were sold a few months back, but the ones remaining were allowed for the children’s schooling. “I was studying this morning, got interrupted. Now they finally let me go again and it’s your turn to interrupt.”

Jun grins, closing the door and heading over to the desk. “Nakamura’s Chiba Almanac,” he reads from one book cover. His smile fades as he continues. “Geography of the Eastern Nations. Guide to the Borderlands. Sho-kun, what are you reading these for?”

Sho says nothing when Jun turns to look at him. 

“Sho-kun?”

Sho pulls him close, hugging him tight. It’s been ages since he’s been able to, and Jun leans into it, pressing a kiss to Sho’s neck. He misses him. They’re in the same house all day, but he misses him.

“I’m working on something. You can’t tell.”

Jun doesn’t let him go. “Something dangerous?”

“You can’t tell.”

He squeezes Sho tighter. “Stop, don’t do something so stupid. Especially not now. There’s twelve of them here now. Twelve.”

“I won’t do anything right away. I have to plan first.”

Jun finally steps back, sighing. If the soldiers come and examine Sho’s reading materials closely, it’ll be over before it even starts. “You should at least rip the covers off the books.”

Sho chuckles quietly. “I probably should, huh?”

He wants to kiss him. He hasn’t been able to do that in so long. Instead he reaches out his hand, takes Sho’s in his own. Their fingers twine together. “If you need help, let me help.”

Sho rubs his thumb across Jun’s hand. It sends a pleasurable shiver down his spine. “We’ll see.”

Before they can do much more, there’s a heavier knock at the door. It’s Lieutenant Kimura, and he and Sho have barely stepped apart when the soldier opens the door. “Matsumoto, your mother needs you.”

“Of course.”

He hurries downstairs, already missing the warmth of Sho. Amami-san is in the kitchen, quietly packing food into a satchel. Before he can ask why, his mother’s there, taking his hand and pulling him to the pantry.

Once inside, she takes his face in her hands and looks at him with a seriousness that makes him think he’s in deep trouble. Does she know what he does when he gets moments alone with Sho?

“Jun, I need you to listen closely to me.”

“Of course.”

Her voice is a mere whisper, and she looks half-hysterical. It’s very unlike her. She knows something. But what?

“You can saddle Yama, can’t you?”

“Huh?” He shrugs. “Yeah, yeah, I know how to do it.” At least he’s got a good idea, after watching Sho do it so many times.

“You’re going to have to be quiet as a mouse, my darling boy. The groom will exercise the horses in one hour, just before it gets dark. I’ve spoken with him, he knows, which means you can take Yama back behind the stables, down the southern path toward the trees where they won’t see you. With the other horses out in the paddock, they will probably not notice. There will be more snow tonight, it will probably cover your tracks.”

“What are you talking about? Why would I take Yama out?”

“Noribetsu Ryokan, it’s an inn on the northern edge of Gunma Town. That’s where you’ll go. I have a lot to explain and very little time. You must do what I say.”

“I don’t understand, Mother.”

“The family is in danger, Jun. They’re in danger and if we don’t act swiftly, it’ll be our fault for not helping them.”

Hearing her words, knowing she’d never exaggerate or lie, he nods.

“What do I have to do?”


	9. Chapter 9

**—now—**

Keikarou Palace  
Maku-Harihongo, Kingdom of Chiba

He’d ridden in a car with Ikuta-san and a handful of his staff, preferring to stay out of the limelight. The streets of Maku-Harihongo had been a flood of humanity, their cheers almost deafening as the horse-drawn carriage ferried Aiba Masaki and his parents through the capital. It was a new era in Chiba.

Sho had only been able to look out the motorcar’s window, relieved that the crowd’s interest remained on the carriage at the head of the procession. Ikuta, still working like a madman even during the parade, had been talking through the logistics of travel with Sho, rambling through the itinerary. It was like Sho’s opinion didn’t even matter. He would be leaving Maku-Harihongo in a few days, and that was that.

He was back at the palace now. Guests would be arriving in a few hours’ time for the coronation ball. He had asked Masaki not to introduce him, saying he wasn’t ready for any sort of recognition, especially with things still so out of control in Minato. Masaki had given him an odd look but hadn’t felt the need to explain himself.

The sun was setting, and the entire capital would probably be lit up all night long. Though the coronation ball was limited to Chiba’s noble families and select guests, the rest of the city would be celebrating in their own way. Sho waited in his guest suite, still in the fine suit that had been made for him for the parade in such a short span of time. According to the chamber maid who cleaned Sho’s rooms, the tuxedo he’d be wearing for the ball that evening was still being finished at the tailor’s workshop.

He couldn’t help wondering how Jun and Nino were spending the evening. Masaki hadn’t said much about meeting them the previous day, just inferring that they had been polite and appreciative. That Nino’s parents would be fast-tracked for immigration. He hadn’t been able to ask Masaki yet about helping Ohno-san, and he wasn’t sure if Jun had been able to bring it up. He’d have to bring it up and demand it himself.

They were at the Midori Hotel, just across the bridge and a few blocks down on Boulevard Queen Yuko. He’d put in a friendly hour or two at the ball and would then see if he could make it over there. If Masaki forced a guard upon him for the excursion, he would allow it so long as he was able to go. With the haste of Masaki’s plans, dragging Sho onto his celebration train and taking him away, he had to at least try to convince Jun to come too. It was selfish, like most feelings Sho had regarding Jun, but he still had to try.

There was a knock at the main door of his suite and he opened it, expecting to find staff coming to dress him for the ball. He didn’t expect to find Matsumoto Jun in a new wool coat and a suitcase in hand. “Jun,” he whispered, still holding onto the doorknob.

“Can I speak with you?”

“How did you get here?”

“I had an appointment with Ikuta-san.”

Sho was wondering if Masaki’s right hand man was even human, given how hard he worked. “Come in then. Please.”

He shut the door behind him. While Jun set his bag down, he didn’t remove his coat. He had no intention of staying for long. 

“Have you been taken care of?” Sho asked him, fidgeting and unable to leave his place by the door. 

Jun leaned against the sofa, perching on one of the arms. “Yes, your cousin is a generous man. Nino’s back at the hotel making some new friends already, saying he’s best buddies with the king now.”

Sho couldn’t help smiling. “He’ll never change, will he?”

“I hope he never does.”

“And you?” Sho asked, feeling a little more uncertain. He gestured to the case Jun had set down. “Is that the reward money? Your bag?”

“I’m going back to Keio.”

Sho was stunned, feeling an ache in his shoulder. He hadn’t used his pain cream all day, not with the fuss of the parade. “What? When?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Sho repeated, panic setting in within moments. They’d only just gotten here, how could he be leaving?

“It’s actually a mission from the king. We met yesterday, as you may know. He’s secretly opening diplomatic ties with Minato. There’s a train leaving tonight from Maku Central Station. Medical supplies, food. I’m part of the team that’s going to the capital now. I’ll be going back and forth, bringing supplies from Chiba for the next several months on a mission of peace. I’ll be quite busy. Guess I can’t shake the delivery man lifestyle just yet.”

“That’s so sudden.”

“He told me you would be traveling with him all over Chiba,” Jun replied, and Sho could have sworn he heard relief in Jun’s voice as he said so. “It’s wonderful that you’ll be together. You can catch up on old times. You deserve happiness like that, Sho-kun, truly.”

He took a step forward, shaking his head. “I was going to ask you to come with me. I was going to come to your hotel tonight and ask you.”

Jun smiled sadly. “That’s kind of you.”

“You’re really going tonight?”

“The train leaves at 10:00. It was your cousin’s wish that the first mission departs when Maku-Harihongo isn’t paying much attention. Don’t worry about me.”

He shook his head again. “You can’t go.”

Jun scoffed. “We spoke of this before. That Minato needs help. I’m going to help.”

“You can’t leave me behind!” Sho said, raising his voice. 

The sudden outburst left them both silent for a few moments. He looked into Jun’s eyes, desperate to change his mind. How could Masaki have arranged this and not told anyone? How could he send Jun back into such a dangerous place when he was finally free, finally safe?

Jun cocked his head, pushing his not-so-perfect glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Sho-kun, you have your life back. You have your family back. I’m happy for you. And you know there’s no place for me here or on that grand tour of Chiba train. I’m going to make a difference…it’s what we both wanted for Minato, I thought you’d be happy for me.”

He walked closer, until he was standing right before Jun, forcing him to look up from his seat on the arm of the sofa. He felt tears stinging his eyes, and he didn’t much care if Jun saw them fall. “Why would it make me happy to be separated from you?”

Every feeling Jun ever had was easily read on his face. Every single one. Right now, Jun was surprised, deeply confused. “This is where you belong. You’re royal.”

“I’m not,” he answered. “Jun, I haven’t been for fifteen years.”

“You belong with your family.”

“I belong wherever you are. You’re the family I need.”

Jun looked away, unable to look at him a moment longer. “You’ve used this ploy on me before. When you didn’t want me to go to the War College.”

“It’s not a ploy. It was never a ploy! I needed you then, I need you now. I’ve been alone for so long, and I’ve only just gotten you back. You can’t go. I’ll talk to Masaki.”

Before he could turn and run, to go over Ikuta’s head and find his way into his cousin’s chambers himself, Jun’s hand latched around his wrist hard. His voice was unsteady, uncertain. “It’s not your decision to make.”

He yanked his arm away roughly, grabbing Jun by the shoulders and shaking him. “I love you, does that make a difference?”

Jun looked up at him once more, eyes wide. 

Sho let him go, taking the words that had always been written on his heart and saying them aloud. “I love you. Jun, I love you.” 

Jun said nothing in reply. He simply grabbed him, pulling him close. There was a second’s hesitation, Sho feeling a warm huff of Jun’s breath against his mouth before Jun was kissing him. Still perched on the sofa, Jun moved his legs apart so Sho could stand between them, could come closer. They’d been children, they’d been such children back then, afraid of discovery and burdened by their different social classes. This was different. They were the same now. They were equal.

He held Jun’s face in his hands, unashamed of his tears falling. Jun had his arms around him. For fifteen years, Sakurai Sho had been gone. Sho had been Yoshimoto Koya, someone else, a man without a past. For fifteen years, he knew Matsumoto Jun had mourned the loss of him. He could feel it in the way Jun’s strong hand pressed against his spine, in the way Jun was barely keeping it together, his breaths hard and his skin hot.

Sho ignored Keikarou Palace, ignored the coronation ball, ignored the tailor who would soon arrive with his tuxedo. He knew only Jun, the press of his mouth, his desperate little gasps. Jun, who’d always been there. Jun, who’d had to create a new life, start over, but without the convenient ability to forget. Jun, who’d refused to forget him.

“Please,” Sho begged him, dragging his lips away, hearing Jun moan gently when he pressed his mouth against his cheek, along his jaw. “Please, you can’t go.”

Jun finally moved from where he was sitting, rising to stand up straight. One moment, Sho was kissing Jun and the next he wasn’t.

Jun reached out, resting a hand on his shirt, finger nearly catching on a button. “I’m sorry. What I’m doing is more important than you or me. And in time, I think you’ll realize it’s true.” He took his hand away, started to walk. He picked up his suitcase and didn’t even look back. “Goodbye, Sho.”

Sho turned, his shoulder screaming, though not louder than his heart was. He watched Jun open the door and shut it behind him, the sound echoing throughout the room.

He was gone.

**—**

Maku Central Station  
Maku-Harihongo, Kingdom of Chiba

Though Jun’s appointment to the “peace train” was sudden, he was welcomed aboard without judgment. Though in time Jun would probably be expected to take on more duties, this first mission was under the charge of two individuals Aiba Masaki thoroughly trusted. Though out of uniform, Lieutenant Commander Katori Shingo was a member of the royal guard and was responsible for the safety of all aboard. He’d even commented on how Jun carried himself, grinning and saying “I’d know another soldier anywhere.”

Alongside him was Professor Fukiishi Kazue from the Chiba Royal Institute of Life Sciences, a medical doctor and instructor who hoped to remain in Keio, to work with the doctors there and as part of General Kimura’s staff. Professor Fukiishi’s parents had immigrated to Chiba before she was born in order to find better opportunities. Their daughter felt it was her duty to return to her parents’ homeland and help. Jun had a feeling he’d get along with the professor, seeing her passion and commitment.

Jun was in a fairly luxurious compartment, housed between a very shy scientist who had retreated back inside as soon as Jun had tried to introduce himself to her and a pediatrician who hoped to work with the children in Minato’s orphanages. He wasn’t quite sure how he could contribute as part of this peace train, but he’d do whatever was asked. He wanted to help, and he would.

The compartment consisted of a pull down bunk, a chair and a small desk, and a tight but serviceable washroom with a toilet and sink. A shower at the end of the carriage would be shared. He was surprised to find that the tiny cupboard was filled with more new clothes, all in his size. A note from Ikuta fluttered out of a suit jacket, and he laughed. Prince Masaki…no, King Masaki had apparently accounted for everything. Perhaps he should have asked the man for some new glasses.

Checking the clock bolted to the compartment wall, he saw that it was 9:43 PM. They’d be leaving soon. They’d make it to the Chiba border in the wee hours of the morning. It was a special train, its carriages able to be lifted from their chassis and onto new ones that fit the Minato rail gauge. It would take a few hours, but they would only have to switch to a new locomotive engine instead of having to move all their supplies onto a new train.

From there it was the same path back to Keio that they’d spent on board the Great Eastern Express. Though this time, the journey would be completed. He couldn’t help remembering what had happened, Sho’s horror, how the mask that was Yoshimoto Koya had finally fallen away, revealing the Sakurai Sho he’d known so well. The Sakurai Sho he thought had been lost to him forever.

He shut his eyes, leaning back against the compartment wall. It had been foolish to kiss him. He’d gone back to the palace to receive final instructions from Ikuta-san. He’d selfishly asked where Sho’s rooms were, thinking only of saying goodbye. As if that was something so easily accomplished. Hearing the desperation in Sho’s voice, hearing Sho confess the true extent of his feelings…it had taken everything Jun had to walk away. It was the right thing to do. Sho would understand. If Sho loved him as much as he’d just claimed to, wouldn’t he respect Jun’s decision?

But if Sho loved him as much as he’d just claimed to, how could Jun leave him?

He pulled down the bunk with an angry thud, tugging off his coat and resting it on his chair. A quick test of the thin mattress and pillow, and he was satisfied. It was no Midori Hotel, but it was perfectly fine. He was just unbuckling his belt when he heard commotion in the corridor. Leaving his belt on, he undid the lock on his compartment and pulled it open. 

The noise was coming from another car, and Jun moved around the curious pediatrician, wondering if Lieutenant Commander Katori needed assistance. He moved to the next car and slid the door open. 

“Sho-kun?” he whispered.

Just past Katori stood Sakurai Sho, with only the clothes on his back and a letter in hand.

Katori turned, looking at him. “He’s got a signed letter from the king. You know him? He says he knows you.”

Jun froze. No, Sho shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be here! He was supposed to stay in Chiba. He would be safe in Chiba!

“I’m Yoshimoto Koya,” Sho said, daring Jun to say differently. “Matsumoto and I served together in Minato.”

“As I was just explaining to Yoshimoto-san, I don’t have a space for him on this train,” Katori said, gesturing to the letter. “The king says to allow him aboard. To not depart Maku-Harihongo without him. I hate to impose on you, Matsumoto-san, but he says he knows you. We’re departing in less than ten minutes.”

Jun, horrified by Sho’s rash decision, could only nod. “Yes, I know him.”

“I’ll have some extra pillows and blankets brought to your compartment. Thank you, it’s a big help, Matsumoto-san. On our way back to Chiba, we’ll have a lighter passenger count, I’m sure.” 

Dismissed, Jun turned on his heel and didn’t look back. He knew Sho was following him. The corridor was empty when he returned, the pediatrician having apparently lost her curiosity. He opened the door to the compartment, and Sho followed him inside. He was still holding the letter in his hand.

“Is that even real? Did you forge your cousin’s signature?”

“It’s real,” Sho admitted, holding it out to him. When Jun didn’t take it, he let his arm drop, the letter fluttering to the compartment floor. “I nearly made him late for the ball but…but I couldn’t let you leave without me.”

“Why did he let you leave? I thought he was taking you on his whirlwind tour.”

Sho smiled weakly. “I told him what I felt. And he understood. He didn’t like it, you’ll be happy to know, but he understood. Ikuta had someone do a rush job, but I’ve even got a Chiba passport that says I’m Yoshimoto Koya. Nino would probably have cause for complaint over the craftsmanship, but since we’re on such a time crunch…”

“How can you make jokes right now?” Jun interrupted, barely able to keep it together. For so long, he’d kept it together. For so long, he’d denied himself. All for the greater good. All for what was best for Sho.

“I don’t know,” Sho admitted. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m very angry with you.”

Sho nodded. “I understand.”

“I nearly drowned to get you to Chiba.”

“I know you did,” Sho said, tears in his eyes. Jun could barely look at him. He couldn’t bear the sight of him like that, wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“You didn’t do this just because you…” He took a deep breath. “…just because you love me. Sho-kun, I know you.”

Sho moved over, sitting down in the desk chair. “I listened to Masaki swear to his people today that he would protect them. That he would devote his life in service to them. I would have sworn the same, if Minato wasn’t the Minato it is now.” Sho blinked back tears. “How could I spend the next several months of my life traveling from city to city, watching from the sidelines when I could do something for the country I left behind?”

There was a knock on the compartment door, and Jun answered, accepting a mound of blankets and a few pillows before shutting and locking the door once more. He suspected that these were from the supplies meant for Keio. Luckily there would be more coming in the future.

“I’ll take the floor then,” he said, moving to the spot beneath the pulled-down bunk, dropping the blankets there.

Sho didn’t move. “You make me stronger. You always have.”

Jun knelt down, trying not to let his hands shake as he tried to sort out the blankets. “You’re plenty strong. And as you’ve demonstrated again tonight, stubborn as an ox.”

There was a noisy whistle, and the train started to move. There was no turning back now.

He sat there on the floor, pulling his knees up, hugging his legs. “Did your cousin tell you who the new leader is in Minato? Who he’s been working with? Who we’ll be meeting there?”

“Wasn’t exactly time,” Sho said quietly, looking down at him.

“Kimura Takuya. He’s a general now, but we knew him better as a lieutenant.”

He saw Sho jolt a bit at the name, saw him grip the chair tightly.

“He was there with us. At Sakura House. He’s moved up in the world now, has other people to kill for him.”

Sho shut his eyes. “No.”

“It’s him. He’s apparently quite popular still. His is a name I hadn’t heard in years, but he’s probably been operating in the shadows, waiting to make his move and he got to your cousin…”

“No,” Sho repeated. “No, he’s not one of them.”

“What do you mean? Sho-kun, you remember everything else now, don’t you? Surely you remember him. It was him, Inohara, Mori…”

“He’s not one of them,” Sho insisted, shutting his eyes. “He was the one. It was him…”

**—then—**

Sakura House  
Near Gunma Town, Kingdom of Minato

He’s falling asleep at his desk, wondering why he’s so tired. He hasn’t even had dinner yet. It’s only when he tries to lift a hand to shut one of his books that he realizes he can barely move it. What’s going on? He’s had the drink from Hana-san, a glass of warmed milk to get him through his afternoon studies.

Did one of the soldiers put something in the glass? Have they poisoned him? If not, why would Hana-san…

He’s barely coherent when Lieutenant Kimura enters his room and locks the door from the inside with one of the master keys. “No,” Sho slurs, moving to stop him but falling out of his desk chair and hitting the floor hard, his chin smacking the rug and making his teeth rattle.

“Now. It has to be now.”

“What?”

But then Kimura’s hauling him up, sliding open the secret panel in the wall beside Sho’s bed. How does he know about that? Did Jun tell him? Or do all the soldiers know? He feels like he sleeps for days, only waking when he pisses himself.

He’s in the dark now, still stunned from whatever was in that drink. He can feel piss dripping down his leg, and he’s so tired he can’t even gather the energy to be ashamed. “Sorry,” he says, but then Kimura’s hand is covering his mouth.

“Be quiet.”

They’re in the cellar. The secret passages go down to the cellar. He can hear noise, screams. He hears his own name, shouted by his parents. “Kimura’s out looking for him,” Sho hears. It’s Inohara. Inohara who has always treated them with the most respect.

Kimura tightens his grip, and Sho’s still only halfway to consciousness. He’s freezing. The cellar isn’t heated. They store food down here, just on the other side of the wall. Kimura’s dragged him down here in haste. Sho’s only in a thin pair of socks, the slippers he’d been wearing in his bedroom having been lost at some point. Kimura’s warmer. Sho can feel the heavy wool of his coat. Sho’s in a cotton shirt and slacks. Piss-soaked slacks, he reminds himself.

The new soldier, the newest one in charge, eventually has something to say. 

“Do this and we’ll take care of him when we find him.”

And then Sho is screaming with them as they’re all dragged down the stairs. He’s screaming, unable to fight as Kimura holds onto him, covering his mouth, whispering again and again in his ear. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. My god, she was trying to help you all. It’s happening earlier than they said…”

At the first sounds of gunfire, he stops fighting, stunned by the sound. He’s never heard it so close, at least not aimed in his direction. He writhes in the soldier’s grip, sobbing noiselessly, uselessly. The wall splinters with several of the shots and Kimura tries to move him, to head in the direction of the door at the end of the passage that has a ladder up and out.

The bullet comes through the wall and strikes him in the shoulder. His scream of pain is lost among the gunfire, among the other screams throughout the house. Hana-san? Amami-san? Are they next? What about Jun? What about _Jun_?

The pain is overwhelming. He’s broken a bone before, but it’s nothing compared to this. Nothing.

Somehow they get outside, and it’s freezing. It’s so cold, god, it’s so cold. And in the cellar they’d just…no, oh no no no no no no no-

“Don’t,” Kimura says, gruff and demanding. Insisting. Ordering. Carrying him through the snow, likely leaving a trail of blood in their wake. “Don’t pass out just yet. Stay here. Stay with me, Sho-kun, don’t go.”

It seems like hours, and he’s in and out of consciousness. The pain wakes him, the pain shuts him down. The cellar, the cellar. It feels like a dream. Maybe he can convince himself it’s not real. That the cellar didn’t happen. He’s just dreaming, he’s just dreaming. He’s leaving a trail of blood in the snow and it feels like fire, fire consuming him whole.

Kimura’s teeth are chattering, but he talks to him, tries to keep him awake even though Sho is all too happy to fade into oblivion. To give up. “Minato is your country. You must save your people.”

He says nothing. The man’s words are meaningless. They hold no value. Sho has no value. His family was ousted. His family was imprisoned. His family was just…his family was just…

“Maybe not now, but someday you’ll be able to. Someday you’ll be able to make things right, kid.”

I’m not a kid, Sho thinks. And then he doesn’t think. He refuses to think anymore.

At some point, Kimura drags him onto a porch. He hears him murmuring with someone else.

“I just brought him from the front lines, our hospital was overwhelmed.”

“Who is he? What’s going on?”

“Kamezuka Hospital, can you get him there?”

“With this snow? I can’t get the truck through that…”

It’s the last thing he hears, and by then he’s nobody. He’s nobody special. He’s nobody that needs to be remembered. He shuts his eyes and forgets it all.

**—now—**

Aboard Diplomatic Train  
Near Chiba/Minato Border

He woke up in the pull-down bunk, peering over the side to see that Jun was curled up in the mound of blankets on the floor. Rolling over, onto his back, Sho stared at the ceiling of the compartment, listening to the train chug along on the tracks. In another hour or so, they’d be at the border, where the train cars would be moved onto the other tracks.

He remembered all he was going to remember now, and Jun had listened to all of it. Jun had sat there, not saying a word, until Sho was finished. 

“Sleep, Sho-kun,” Jun had said, unable to hide the kindness in his eyes. Though he’d claimed to be angry with Sho, he couldn’t stay that way for very long. 

He’d changed into some of the clothing Jun had been given. It mostly fit, though Jun was broader than he was. Jun had turned out the light, and somehow they’d slept.

Upon reaching Urayasu, the passengers were all asked to leave the train momentarily. He and Jun joined a few other passengers from their carriage for breakfast. Sho introduced himself as Yoshimoto Koya, and everyone accepted it without question.

They were on the way back to the train when there was a roaring noise in the air. Jun had wrapped an arm around him, aiming to protect him, but then they’d stood together transfixed, watching an aeroplane, a real honest to goodness aeroplane, take off into the sky from a small airstrip just beyond the train station.

“It’s just a mail plane,” Professor Fukiishi said when they boarded again.

“Minato doesn’t have any,” Jun explained, his eyes full of wonderment that made Sho smile.

“I promised him we’d see one together someday,” Sho said, laughing. “Guess we can check that off, huh?”

Jun looked at him in surprise. Had he only just remembered?

When the train got moving again, Jun claimed to be busy with something, though Sho knew he had volunteered for inventory duty, to count and recount their supplies to ensure that nothing had gone missing during the border crossing. Sho was still astonished by how kindly the Minato soldiers had treated them. Nobody had asked to see a travel visa. Nobody had tried to extort money from them. The stakes were too high. If anything happened to a diplomatic transport from Chiba, Minato would never recover.

He showered and shaved, returning to the compartment. They’d be in Keio by dinnertime the following night. He had money from Ikuta and pain cream, but otherwise he had little else with him. He opened the cupboard and took the jar out of his coat, sitting down at the desk with it.

Lieutenant Kimura was running Minato now. And unlike all the warmongering generals that had come before him, his mission wasn’t power or control. His mission, though idealistic, was to ask for help. To make Minato better. Sho suspected that Hana-san had recruited him that day at Sakura House, to help his family escape. But Kimura would have never agreed if he didn’t have Loyalist sympathies in the first place. But if he’d survived this long, had made it all the way to general, then he’d never been found out. He’d kept the secret all these years, that he’d been the one to smuggle Sho out. Then again, Kimura wouldn’t have known if he’d actually survived.

He wondered if the man had believed him dead all these years. If the man believed that he’d failed.

He shoved those thoughts away, twisting open the jar. There was a knock on the compartment door, and he sighed, pulling his shirt back on. But when he slid the door open it was Jun.

“Sorry, is this a bad time? I’m done with the inventory for now…” Jun asked.

Sho stepped back nervously, shaking his head. “It’s your compartment, I’m just in here taking up your space.”

Jun gestured to the jar in his hand. “Did you want me to help you?”

“I can do it myself.”

“I can do it better than you can.”

Sho couldn’t help smiling. “It’s not a competition, Matsumoto.” He handed it over. “But thanks.”

He turned away from him, feeling tense as he slid his shirt off, resting it on the chair. He was standing there in only the thin muslin trousers he’d slept in, remembering all too well what had happened the night before at Keikarou Palace. He was barefoot, praying Jun wouldn’t look down and see. He moved to have a seat but Jun stopped him, a hand to his shoulder.

He took a deep breath, shutting his eyes. Jun’s touch was gentler than it had been the previous times he’d done this for him, slowly rubbing the cream into his skin, filling the entire compartment with the medicinal stink. “Turn around,” Jun eventually said, and Sho obeyed.

Jun traced his fingers over the scarring. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

“I’m not going to show it off though,” Sho pointed out, his voice hushed.

“You lived through something horrible. But you lived.”

Jun’s attention was on the cream, on rubbing it onto his scar, his shoulder, his chest. He shivered a little, feeling the tingling sensation of the cream and the warming presence of Jun’s fingers on his skin. He was so focused on it that he barely registered Jun stopping, setting the jar down on the desk. Jun’s fingers were ticklish then, an arm wrapping around him and tugging him close. There was still the lingering scent of the cream on Jun’s fingers when he put them beneath Sho’s chin, tilting it up so their lips could meet again.

He felt Jun’s hand resting on his back, felt the scratchiness of his shirt against his bare skin. If Jun was still angry with him, it wasn’t too obvious. There was time now, no kissing out of desperation. They took their time, Jun’s hands on his skin, Sho’s fingers starting at the bottom buttons of Jun’s shirt and moving upward. The thin trousers he was wearing did little to hide his growing desire, finally having Jun here, alone, the two of them together at long last.

Before Sho could push for more, to tug Jun’s shirt off and leave it on the floor, Jun had a hand on the back of his neck, keeping him in place, the other moving down his abdomen with purpose. He moaned against Jun’s mouth when his fingers slipped into his trousers, finding him. It was a slightly awkward position, standing in the middle of the compartment, swaying with the train, Sho grabbing hold of Jun’s arms, squeezing him to hold steady. The tighter he held on, the more it encouraged Jun.

He whimpered, gasping at the insistent way Jun was touching him, slowly, slowly, working him up and down. “Jun,” he murmured, nearly bucking his hips against Jun’s hand. He’d wanted this for so long, for so so long. He had to take his lips away, burying his face against Jun’s neck. “Faster. Faster. Touch me.”

But then Jun did just that and Sho could barely handle it, chuckling. “Wait, wait…”

Jun slipped his hand out of his trousers, kissing his temple and laughing at him before kneeling down before him, tugging his trousers to the floor. Sho gasped in surprise, resting a shaking hand on the top of Jun’s head when he replaced what his hand had been doing with his mouth. It felt so good, it felt so good. The only experiences Sho had ever had before had been with another staff member at the orphanage a handful of times, things done out of loneliness rather than affection. Things done hurriedly in the dark and not spoken of again. But now it was Jun, Jun doing this to him, Jun the person he loved.

It was over fairly quickly after that. 

Jun brought Sho down to the blankets on the floor, lying on top of him, not seeming to mind how flushed and out of it Sho was for the next several minutes. He felt more kisses pressed to his face, his mouth, up and down his neck. “I love you,” Jun said, kissing his collarbone, lips lingering around his scarred skin, unafraid. “I’ve always loved you.”

He stroked Jun’s cheek with his finger, crying in relief. “I think I always knew.”

He turned them, Jun allowing Sho to push him onto his back. His shirt was still unbuttoned and Sho simply pushed it aside, listening to Jun’s appreciative gasps as he kissed him, learned his body. Jun’s slacks were next, Sho tugging them down, palming him through his underwear. “Please,” Jun asked, “please.”

The compartment stunk of pain cream, the train jostled them, but it didn’t really matter. Sho ignored all of that, enjoying the simple pleasures of Jun beneath him, Jun’s fingers tugging his hair, the taste of him in his mouth. They eventually lay there, a tangle of limbs, sweat-soaked and exhausted on a pile of thick blankets. It was the closest to perfect that Sho had ever felt. 

Whatever was ahead, they’d face it together. 

**—**

Ohno Fishmongers  
Keio, Workers’ Republic of Minato

The meeting with General Kimura had been nervewracking. It had been him, Sho, Professor Fukiishi, and a handful of scientists in a room with the General, a dozen rifle-toting soldiers, and his new cabinet ministers. They’d spent the better part of the day arguing with him over how the first batch of aid might be distributed, over where Professor Fukiishi and her staff would be working, about how Minato doctors and scientists might be selected for the first round of training.

After a solid eight hours of negotiations, they’d at least gotten through it all without bloodshed. Jun had mostly sat there at Sho’s side, letting the scientists and doctors speak. Sho had only introduced himself as Yoshimoto Koya, though there’d been pure surprise in General Kimura’s face when their eyes had met. The negotiations would continue on through the week, but Kimura had promised them all safe passage through the city and rooms in the Keio Grand Hotel, a building that had made it through years of civil war.

It would be a long journey, helping Minato. But it was a journey worth taking.

The Keio they left had been a mess, everyone walking with their heads down to avoid trouble. There were still soldiers in the streets, but they seemed less menacing. It had only been a short time since the coup, but the long Minato winter was finally ending, the snow mostly melted and life starting to return. On the underground train, he and Sho had been surprised to see that some people were chatting, unafraid to speak in public, even if it was only about mundane things. Paying rent, cooking dinner, doing laundry.

Jun had hesitated upon their arrival at Ohno Fishmongers, but it was Sho who had tugged him along. They had days and days of negotiating ahead. “We ought to at least remind ourselves what we’re fighting for.”

Like always at this hour, the warehouse was deserted, but the door had been unlocked. Sho climbed the stairs behind him, a steadying hand on his back. Jun was so nervous he thought he’d pass out, but when he got to the top, the door was tugged open.

There he was, as though nothing had changed. Ohno Satoshi in a sweater that stunk of shrimp, his eyes tired but his face calm and gentle. “You came back.”

Sho joined him on the landing, giving Ohno a bit of a surprise, especially when he bowed low to him. “Ohno-san, it’s my fault that you were inconvenienced.”

“Who are you?” Ohno replied, gaze wavering uncomfortably between Jun and the stranger bowing to him with such deference. “It’s okay, lift your head.”

Sho did so. “My name is Sakurai Sho. I used to be the Crown Prince of this country.”

Ohno staggered back, his eyes comically wide. “A ghost?”

After all this time, all the pain he’d endured, Jun laughed until his belly ached. It felt good. “Can we come in and explain?”

Ohno’s voice was shaky. “You’d…I guess you’d better!”

Within minutes they were sitting around Ohno’s desk, at ease. Ohno was refusing the money they offered, seemingly satisfied that in letting Jun steal from him, Minato was now on course for a better future. If Ohno hadn’t helped them take the train, they’d have never made it to Chiba. Sho would have never reunited with his cousin. The peace train might have still left for Minato, but Jun had seen the way General Kimura had watched Sho that day. It had been something close to relief. With Sho’s help, even in the guise of Yoshimoto Koya, he suspected that peaceful negotiations would be even more likely to succeed. 

Ohno dug out a bottle of liquor and some glasses. He poured for each of them, setting down a glass for himself atop some paperwork he probably ought to have completed by now. He caught Jun looking at it, grinning. He held his glass up. “Here’s to our friends in Chiba, for their generosity.”

Sho lifted his glass. “To General Kimura Takuya, one of the architects of our future. And without whom I wouldn’t be sitting here drinking with you today.”

“To Ninomiya Kazunari,” Jun joked, “for being greedy and foolish enough to try and trick Chiba’s royal family.”

He and Sho laughed at that for several moments, a still slightly confused Ohno just rolling his eyes and downing his liquor.

There were more toasts. To the Sakurai family. To Matsumoto Hana. To the Gyoranzaka Home for Boys. To Aiba Masaki and Ikuta Toma. To the farmers’ truck and to Okada-san’s cabbage. Eventually Ohno left them, stumbling off to his kitchen to make some food to help soak up the alcohol they were drinking.

After a few moments of quiet, Sho reached for the bottle, filling Jun’s glass and then his own one more time. Sho held his up high, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “To Matsumoto Jun, my friend.”

They’d been through so much, so much Jun could barely grasp it. The path ahead of them wouldn’t be easy. Minato wouldn’t be fixed overnight. Hell, Minato wouldn’t be fixed in a year. But with Aiba Masaki’s support, with General Kimura’s determination, and with Sho’s passion, Jun believed that anything might be possible. After so many years without hope, Jun now burned with it. Theirs wasn’t an ending, but a beginning, and he couldn’t wait to get started.

He raised his glass in return, happier than he’d ever been. “To Sakurai Sho. My friend.”


End file.
